


The Royal Omega

by house_of_lantis



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-14
Updated: 2016-06-12
Packaged: 2017-12-20 03:19:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 15
Words: 46,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/882320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/house_of_lantis/pseuds/house_of_lantis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On the eve of Omega Prince Stiles’s “Choosing,” Derek, the rogue Alpha Heir of the Royal House of Hale, kidnaps and forcibly bonds with the Prince to take the throne for himself.</p><p> </p><p>This is DARK!FIC people, so enter at your own risk. It's dark!romance (the minimal definition of the word). There's non-con/dub-con. There's graphic violence and possibly torture. There's a lot of emotional and psychological pain. But there's also journey and self-discovery and recovery. There's political intrigue and court gossip and sex - all set in an AU modern world. If you're looking for a happily-ever-after fairy tale love story, please hit the back button and walk away now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Author’s Notes 1: Playing in the Alpha/Beta/Omega world; I’ve created a different type of werewolf world for our favorite TW characters to inhabit. The rules are different; but I haven’t yet decided what I’ll keep or not keep in typical Alpha/Beta/Omega fandoms. Modern day AU with a dash of Greek mythology. If things change, individual chapters will have specific warnings.
> 
> Author's Notes 2: Elements of this fic was inspired by the "Dune" series by Frank Herbert.

**PROLOGUE**

 

“Well, now, who do we have here?” John Stilinski drawled, walking behind his men as they held their weapons on the three women. He scented the air and was surprised to find that they were nearly scentless. They must be wearing a neutralizer that hid their individual scents, their identity kept secret. It was no wonder that he and his soldiers took so long to track them down. He sniffed again, noisily, watching as the women made a face at him, and he realized that they were not afraid. This alone gained his admiration; not even the strongest Alpha would stand so fearless in the face of a dozen armed soldiers.

 

“Who are you to ask?” The tallest one, the redhead, said as she growled lowly at them, her nails transforming into claws.

 

“ **Stand aside, werewolf, and we will spare _your_ lives** ,” the short blonde said, her voice modulated.

 

John could hear the power of suggestion in her tone and watched as half of his soldiers dropped their weapons, confused expressions on their faces as they stared down at their hands, probably wondering why they wanted to obey.

 

 _Could they be?_ But they were myths, just stories from the _Bibliotheca_ , stories of the past, of female werewolves who created a secret pack of their own, living without the influence of men. His sisters used to read them to him when he was bored with his lessons, telling him stories of how the Amazonian werewolves had special powers, how they could seduce with a smile and make men do their bidding. These werewolves knew the secrets of control; passed along their powers to their daughters.

 

 _"No girl will breed until she has killed a man in battle," his sisters read to him._ _“No girl will take a mate with a man; he shall only live long enough to seed the sisterhood, his blood sacrificed to the Goddess.”_

 

_“Don’t marry an Amazonian, John,” they teased him. “They’ll kill you in your marriage bed.”_

 

“I admit that a part of me is curious to see you try and defeat the Royal Guards of the Palace,” he said, waving his hand to his soldiers. 

 

“Have more faith in us than that, sir!”

 

“We could take them,” another of his soldiers said, his voice rough with challenge. “Three against twelve? We might go home with a few new scars and our mates will give us an earful, but we’re ready. At your word, sir.”

 

“Except Greenberg, the short one could probably take him down.”

 

The soldiers laughed, more from camaraderie than derision, but John held up his hand to quiet them.

 

“Enough, enough, boys.”

 

He took a deep breath, looking at the clothes of the women. They were dressed in casual and comfortable clothes, warm layers under their canvas coats, and thick-soled boots for traveling across rough terrain. The women were lean and strong, uncaring of any vanity; John realized that it had been a long time since he had met a woman, outside his Court, who wasn’t out to gain his attention, attracted more to the power he held as the new Alpha King of the United States, than anything else he could offer if he were born a common Beta.

 

“You’re Amazonians.”

 

They didn’t confirm, but they didn’t deny. And he didn’t miss the way that their shoulders straightened, their gaze unflinching.

 

_My god, they were gorgeous; all that power within them. Any Alpha would gladly court them for mating and marriage._

 

“You trespass across Stilinski land,” he said, looking from one woman to the next. His eyes lingered on the woman with the dark brown hair and the amber eyes. “The Royal lands are protected; the penalty for trespassing is death.”

 

He frowned when none of them said a word; no explanation or plea for mercy.

 

“I’m John Stilinski.” He stopped in front of them, his hands curled into fists at his waist. “Your future King. That would be your cue to bow.”

 

“We do not _bow_ to a King,” the third woman said, stepping in front of the short blonde. John realized that within this small group, she must be their leader. “We only _honor_ the Goddess.”

 

He looked at her face, oval and pale, eyes bright with courage. She had a smattering of little black moles and a crooked smile.

 

“What’s your name, Amazonian?”

 

She smirked at him. “Myrine. But don’t think that by gaining my name you’ve earned the right to use it, werewolf.”

 

“Do you intend to insult me with every word out of your mouth?”

 

“It depends on how you define an insult,” she said, chuckling softly.

 

John stepped closer to her, drawn to her, wishing that he could scent her. She only came up to his chin but she wouldn’t raise her chin to look at him; she wouldn’t bare her neck to him. She didn’t offer submission, merely raised her eyes to look at him. She offered challenge instead; and John could see a life with her. He would never be bored, he would always be challenged, and he would be stronger because of her.

 

“I’m going to marry you, and mate you. Myrine. I’m going to ask you to be my Queen.” 


	2. Chapter 1

**CHAPTER ONE**

 

“Your Highness! You’re still asleep? Dude, get out of bed, it’s almost nine!” Scott McCall said, walking across his bedroom to his bed and grabbing the covers and pulling them off. “Sire, you have so much to do today, come on, man!”

 

“Didn’t I tell you to quit calling me that when we’re alone? Is annoying,” he muttered, determined not to wake up any further. He willed himself back towards sleep. He was 21-years old now, the age of majority; meaning he was finally “legally” old enough to determine his own wake up time, damn it. He was tired of having his Nannies babysitting him all the time.

 

“Stiles!”

 

“Five minutes, mom, I promise,” he mumbled, burying his head under the pillow.

 

Scott jerked the pillow from his hands and hit him with it. “Up! I’m not kidding. The Alpha King is going to be in here in like five seconds and if you’re not awake and on your way to being presentable, he’s going to hang my hide in the Main Hall.”

 

Stiles opened one sticky eye and looked at Scott. “Dude, you’re the Regent Alpha Heir, he’s not going to hang your ugly mutt hide anywhere in the Palace.”

 

“Stiles… _please_ , bro! I don’t want to mess this up, okay? This is your big day and I want it to be a really good experience for you. Aren’t you even just a little bit curious about all the Alpha Heirs that are arriving?”

 

He considered it; he was “curious” to see who was attending his party. It was going to be really weird to see the other heirs of the packs here to fulfill their duties; to flirt with him and try to get him to choose them with his dad and all the people who attended the Royal Court of Beacon Hills watching and scheming. Many of them thought he was a total dork and wouldn’t give him the time of day; but today, they were all obligated to make nice with him and be charming. There was going to be a lot of pomp and circumstance; a lot of bowing and scenting and kissing his hand and kissing his ass. Talk about awkward.

 

Today was his 21st birthday and the day of his “Choosing,” which was just another way of saying that he had reached his age of majority for getting married off to the first available Alpha werewolf. There were 50 werewolf packs in the world and all of them were sending an eligible Alpha heir, representing the Major Royal Houses of the Lycaon bloodlines, all in the hopes of snagging Stiles’s attention and his father’s throne – well, the Alphas were probably more interested in the power of his father’s throne than Stiles himself, which was why he wasn’t in any kind of mood to deal with this shit.

 

“Don’t care,” he said, sliding across his bed to the other pillow and burying his head underneath its firm, cool cushion.

 

“ **Stiles, get up right now** ,” Scott growled, the commanding tone of his Alpha werewolf echoing in Stiles’s ears. It sent a shiver of anticipation down his spine, teasing like claws and gliding along his nerves that would have every other Beta or Omega scrambling to obey. But Stiles was able to shake it off, his werewolf awakening to face the challenge.

 

 _Did his best friend just try to command him using his Alpha voice?_ Alphas, and some strong Betas, could modulate their voices, using sounds and tones to influence or command other werewolves to obey.

 

Stiles turned his head slowly and narrowed his eyes at Scott, giving him a long and steady look. “Excuse me? Did you just try to Alpha voice me?”

 

“Sorry,” Scott said, whining.

 

“You know that doesn’t work on me, right?” Stiles said, casually, keeping his temper in check. “Kind of unexpected to have you try it on me. How’s that working out for you, _Regent_ Alpha?”

 

“Sorry! I know, it was stupid. I’m sorry. But seriously, please, for me, okay? Get up and get into the shower before your dad comes here.”

 

“Too late,” Stiles said, flopping back on the bed as he heard his father’s heartbeat approach his bedroom door, the presence of the Alpha King filling his senses. “Hey, dad.”

 

“Still in bed, kiddo? On your big day?” John said, smiling at him. He raised his eyebrow at Scott. “I heard you outside. It was a good try.” His dad gave Stiles an exasperated look. “Believe me, I’ve tried to use the Alpha voice on him more times than I can remember, Scott, and not once was I successful in bending his stubborn Omega will.” 

 

“Desperate times make for a desperate werewolf,” Stiles teased, sighing loudly as he turned and sat up on the bed, dangling his legs off the side. He looked up at his dad and grimaced. “Do I have to do this?”

 

John placed his hand on Stiles’s shoulder; his grip was warm and strong, affectionate rather than chiding. “It’s our law, son. I can’t bend it, not even for you.”

 

“What good is it to be the Alpha King and not even have the power to make amendments to the old laws? You could easily submit a Royal Order and change the age or rescind it all together.”

 

“And show favoritism to my only son when I show none to anyone else? How would I be able to rule fairly? How would _you_ be able to take the throne and look your citizens in the eye, knowing that you opted out when no other Omega has that privilege?”

 

Stiles drew in a deep breath, standing up to face his dad, trying to keep his heartbeat steady. “I’m pretty sure I can withstand the stares and the back talking, given a choice.”

 

“Liar,” John said, smiling slightly. “You’ve always done your duties; and you’re a good son. You’ll be a good leader.”

 

He gave Stiles a long hug, arms wrapped around him, letting Stiles tuck his face against his dad’s neck to breathe in the familiar scents of comfort and power. Stiles closed his eyes and let him sink into his father’s hug. He _loved_ getting hugged, but his status as the Royal Omega prevented people from touching him. The only other people who were allowed to hug him were Scott and his mom, Melissa, who was an Amazonian and Stiles’s mom’s sister-bondmate. He made a pleased sound, not wanting to let go, starved for affection. His dad made a comforting growl that soothed Stiles’s nerves, tightening his hold around Stiles, patting his back. 

 

“Happy birthday, kiddo. You don’t have to try and impress anyone tonight, just follow your instincts and your heart.”

 

“This is going to end in epic failure,” he mumbled against his dad’s shoulder.

 

“I hope that you will find a good mate, someone who will know your worth, someone who will be an equal partner in your life, like the way that your mother was mine.”

 

Stiles chuckled, looking up at him. “Never going to happen; no one will ever be like mom.”

 

John’s blue eyes were bright with emotion. “You’ll never know how much I wish you had known her.” He stroked his hand over Stiles’s scruffy hair and gripped his chin, raising his face. “You look just like her, now more than ever, same eyes, same nose, all those moles.” He smiled, kissing Stiles’s head. “Same obnoxious sense of humor, same streak of stubbornness and inability to submit to anyone.”

 

He laughed, patting his dad’s shoulders with his hands. He loved hearing about his mom, Princess Myrine of the Amazonian pack, elected to that status by a group of badass female werewolves to represent their badassness. Stiles only hoped that he could live up to that.

 

“Nah, come on dad, I totally got those genes from you.”

 

John laughed, heartily, and stroked his hand over Stiles’s head. “Get presentable; the Court wants you to in the Main Hall before lunch so that the Alpha Heirs can formally present themselves to you and offer you gifts.”

 

“I won’t say no to presents,” he said, smiling widely.

 

“Scott, keep him on schedule, please,” his dad said, giving Scott a look before he turned to leave Stiles’s bedroom.

 

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Scott said, bowing his head slightly.

 

Stiles smirked. “Kiss ass.”

 

Scott took a deep breath and relaxed his shoulders. “Your dad still makes me so nervous even after all these years.”

 

“Dude, you know he loves you like a second son,” he said, rolling his eyes. He could sense the pride in his best friend. Stiles knew how much Scott respected and looked up to John as his Alpha, and a father figure. Scott was raised by an Amazonian mother and if the tales were true, Melissa had mated with and then killed Scott’s biological father. Stiles was more than happy to share his dad with Scott because Scott gave Stiles a chance to have a mother in Melissa McCall.

 

“Your tailors picked out your suit for today so go hit the showers. You should try to look good, like the Lycaon Prince you are instead of like you’re one of the Palace servants.”

 

“I _always_ look good, what’re you talking about?” Stiles winked at Scott, walking to the bathroom suite. He turned and looked at his best friend. “I know you’re trying to be a good friend and making this seem like it’s something exciting and good and I appreciate that. But we all know the truth. It’s not like I can sit on the Stilinski throne – not alone anyway. Only an Alpha can rule from the Stilinski throne.”

 

“Or a Royal Omega married and mated to an Alpha,” Scott said, his handsome face opening with a warm smile. “You’ll always have final say over all the packs. Besides, everyone loves you. Everyone knows that this is your choice no matter what and the Alpha you choose is going to be one lucky werewolf.”

 

Stiles wondered, not for the first time, why Scott wouldn’t want to hold the power that he did. As Regent Alpha Heir, he acted in Stiles’s name until Stiles reached his age of majority. Scott had been the Alpha King’s right hand man for the last six years, sitting in on every major decision that impacted not just the Beacon Hills pack but the other 50 packs. Scott was a young Alpha, but he was honest and diligent. He had been handpicked by Stiles’s dad when he was 16-years old to sit on Stiles’s throne. They knew that when it came time for Stiles to take on his official responsibilities as the Prince Heir, Scott would stand by his side, watch his back, and serve as his trusted counselor. 

 

“You sure you don’t want to keep being the Regent Alpha Heir? I hear it’s a pretty good gig. And anyway, I’d be okay with it for a few more years if you’re game,” Stiles offered, cheekily.

 

Scott took a deep breath and shook his head. “No way, bro, the last few years have been nerve-wracking and I don’t envy you or the throne. I put in my time, man, I need a vacation.”

 

Stiles could tell that Scott was telling the truth; it wasn’t often that Scott would hide anything from him anyway. That was why when his dad selected Scott to sit as Stiles’s Regent, he was perfectly happy to let Scott have it. It kept Stiles free from having to deal with Court politics with the werewolves and the humans. It gave him a chance to pursue research and things that he enjoyed, knowing that once he was mated and married to an Alpha, he would have to resume his royal duties as the Prince Heir. Whoever he chose to mate and marry would have the full authority of the Stilinski throne and all the power that went with it, but only through Stiles would he or she carry out laws. No decision from the throne could occur without Stiles’s authority.

 

As a rare Omega male, Stiles was born with a unique ability, one that the Royal families weren’t able to breed back into their own bloodlines. He could continue the Stilinski legacy himself; his Omega Amazonian mother had gifted him with the ability to breed. Inside him slept the miracle of birth; he wasn’t a hermaphrodite in the traditional biological sense as he was clearly all male, but when it was time to breed, Stiles could become pregnant. In all the 50 packs, there were less than 30 Omegas werewolves, but none were heirs to their own packs while Stiles was heir to _all_ the packs.

 

“Thanks, Scott. You know I love you, right?”

 

“Right back at you.”

 

He smiled at Scott and walked into the bathroom, closing the door behind him. He always thought it was so weird, that he could get pregnant. It used to mess with his mind when he was younger, when his teachers and Nannies taught him Omega werewolf biology and reproduction, and how he was “special” because he was an Omega male.  

 

As the Omega son of the Alpha King, Stiles knew he was cherished by the werewolf packs. But a part of him wished to be cherished for himself, as a werewolf, as an individual. He was raised knowing that he would one day lead the packs; he worried that he wouldn’t be good enough.

 

As he turned on the shower and slipped out his pajama bottoms, he could only hope that his “Choosing” would go smoothly and he wouldn’t end up with a douchebag for a mate. 


	3. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER TWO**

 

As expected, it was pomp and circumstance.

 

The Main Hall of the Stilinski Palace was decked out with white ribbons and drapes and white roses and white tulips. Stiles sighed, as if he needed a visual reminder of his “purity.” Being a virgin at the ripe old age of 21 was quite a bore; and maybe that was the motivation he needed to get the Choosing out of the way so that he could at least get laid finally.

 

The Viotti Chamber Orchestra was invited to perform, providing soothing music in the background, the Palace wait staff moving through the room offering drinks and appetizers. Everyone was dressed in beautiful evening clothes. There were a lot of women wearing feathers and plumes in their hair or as part of their dresses – Stiles really didn’t understand the whole feather fashion thing but whatever. The men looked good in their perfectly tailored tuxedos. It was exactly the kind of party Stiles hated the most – his dad privately called it the “Great Peacock Show” and “your mother and I used to sneak away to the balconies and make out in the alcoves” – and Stiles braced himself so that he wasn’t overcome from all the scents and pheromones of the werewolves in attendance.

 

_Scott had helped him with his clothes earlier, fixing his necktie like a proud papa. “This reminds me of Prom Night.”_

 

_Stiles rolled his eyes. “Don’t even go there, dude. I was the only one without a date.”_

_“Because you weren’t allowed to date anyone, don’t make it sound like you’re lame or anything,” Scott scolded, chuckling. He fixed Stiles’s hair, trying to get the cowlick to go down and Stiles slapped his hand away. “There, you look dashing. Very much like what a Royal Omega Prince should look like.”_

_“You’ve been Regent Alpha for way too long,” he said, sympathetically._

_Scott nodded, letting out a deep sigh. “Yeah.”_

 

He wore his “battle dress” uniform: black suit, white dress shirt, a red silk necktie, and a red sash across his chest to indicate his Royal Omega status, decorated with the seal of the First Royal House of Stilinski and the Amazonian pack – a wolf with his neck arched in a fierce howl surrounded by the blue flower of Wolfsbane and a long blade, symbolizing their greatest weakness and their greatest strength.

 

Stiles stood in front of the Main Hall, one step below his throne, his father sitting on his own throne to his left, Scott standing behind him to his right. He looked out at the hundreds of werewolves of the Royal Court, watching him avidly as the procession of Alpha Heirs made their way towards him, one by one in a straight line.

 

The Alpha Heirs – young men and women – were dressed in their best, holding gifts in their hands as they waited their turn to formally introduce themselves and their suit to Stiles.  

 

It went on and on.

 

“You’re doing great,” Scott whispered behind him. “There’s maybe about a dozen people left now.”

 

“Thanks, man.”

 

“Look sharp,” Scott said, amusedly.

 

Stiles smiled ecstatically when Lady Lydia Martin walked towards him. She was wearing an emerald silk dress, her pale shoulders bared, and long strawberry ginger hair falling over her beautiful face in gentle waves. She held a small blue box tied with a large white ribbon in her hands, handing it off to the courtier before she stepped towards Stiles.

 

For years, ever since they met as children, Stiles dreamed of her. She was the epitome of perfection and he knew that she would be out of his league. They were friendly when she deigned to talk to him at various royal functions, but she never saw him as anything more than a peer. He might be the Royal Omega Prince and Heir to all 50 kingdoms, but Lady Lydia didn’t want him. Maybe that was why he loved her so much because she was one of the very few who saw him as an individual and rejected him because he wasn’t worthy of her. She didn’t care about his throne or the fact that he was this “special” werewolf. It was a hard pill to swallow but Stiles wasn’t easily defeated.

 

_“I could totally give her the world if she asked,” Stiles once told Scott, many years ago, watching as she danced with Lord Douchebag Jackson Whittemore._

_“I’m pretty sure she loves Jackson,” Scott said, patting Stiles on the back. “It sucks, man.”_

_“They’re both Alpha Heirs, how could they bond? It’s not possible,” he said, frowning as he chewed on his sash._

_Scott pulled the sash from his mouth and laughed. “If anything, Jackson would bend his will for her. I know he’s a dick, but look at him, she’s got him wrapped around her finger.”_

 

“Lady Lydia, Major Royal House of Martin,” she said, dropping to a graceful curtsey.

 

“Hi Lydia,” he said, clearing his throat nervously. He gave her a deep bow, knowing that he was showing favoritism from the murmur coming from the Court. “Good to see you.”

 

“Your Highness,” she said, getting on her knees on the silk pillow below him. Stiles bit his tongue. He would _not_ fantasize about all the things Lydia could do on her knees, no way, not in front of everyone when they could easily scent his horniness.

 

He held out his right hand and she took it in both of hers and gave him a perfunctory kiss. Stiles smiled, helping her back to her feet. “Thanks for coming tonight. You look beautiful, by the way.”

 

Lydia raised her eyebrow and gave him a small smile, leaning in his scent his neck. She pulled away quickly, giving him a long look, no doubt scenting his pheromones. “Happy birthday. Good luck tonight, Stiles.”

 

“Thanks,” he said, letting go of her hand and watching as she turned to stand beside Lord Jackson.

 

Stiles stifled his sigh, clasping his hands behind his back. He knew he could choose Lydia tonight, take her as a mate, make her his Queen, but as he watched Lydia and Jackson share a small smile, Stiles knew that he couldn’t do that to her. She was obviously in love with the douchebag and Stiles knew that he would never be able to make her happy. She’d never smile at him in the same way that she smiled at Jackson. Their marriage would be forever, until death, but he would never be able to have the kind of life with her that he often fantasized about. He could romance her, he could give her priceless gifts, he could give her the whole kingdom, but she would only ever consider him as a friend. He could see decades with her where she would treat him like a favorite pet, but they would never have passion between them. He would burn for her but it would never be enough.

 

So he let her go and turned his attention to the next Alpha Heir, putting on a smile as Prince Ethan walked up to him, back straight and tall, eyes flashing red for an instant as he looked at Stiles up and down.

 

Scott let out a warning growl at Ethan. “Keep yourself under control, Prince.”

 

Ethan grinned, handing a large box off to the courtier and making his way to Stiles. “You grew up, still kind of skinny though.”

 

Scott growled again, a little louder.

 

“Your Highness,” Ethan said, holding Stiles’s gaze as he bowed.

 

Stiles returned the bow and watched him warily, never dropping his eyes or showing any kind of weakness. He could sense his father and Scott and the Royal Guards tensing around him. He didn’t actually think that Ethan would do anything stupid like attack him, but the House of Carver wasn’t noted for their sophistication and subtlety. They were soldiers, bred to fight in wars, their House elevated to the royal ranks due to their research and development of weapons. The twins, Ethan and Aiden, weren’t gentle born werewolves like most of the Court. They were known to run wild, literally, and Stiles knew that the Carvers were only there due to their allegiance to his father and the throne.

 

“Prince Ethan, Minor Royal House of Carver, at your service,” the Alpha Heir said, snappily.

 

He acknowledged Ethan and held out his hand, waiting for Ethan to kneel and kiss it.

 

And waited. The rush of gossip from the Court filled his ears.

 

Scott took a protective step closer to Stiles, letting out a low sound. “Your Highness—“

 

Stiles turned and smiled at Scott. “It’s cool; Ethan is here to do his duty but he doesn’t need to make an official suit if he doesn’t want to.” He took a deep breath and grinned at Ethan. “Thank you for your attendance.”

 

Ethan sneered, but gave a swift bow and walked across the room to stand beside Prince Danny Mahealani. Stiles raised his eyebrows, understanding dawning, as Ethan and Danny shared a secret look. So that’s how it was. Well, everyone was paired up apparently, except Stiles.

 

The rest of the procession continued without incident and Stiles accepted gifts and kisses and allowed to be scented. It was starting to kind of wig him out and he was starting to feel a little violated by the whole thing. All he wanted to do was go back to his rooms and take a hot shower and scrub his skin.

 

“Hang in there, bro,” Scott said to him, kindly.

 

But the good news was that the procession was coming to an end and only one more Alpha Heir remained. He watched as the dark haired beauty in the long purple-blue gown handed over her gift to the courtier and smiled as she walked towards Stiles. He smiled back, looking out of the corner of his eye to see Scott stand up straighter, shoulders back, and eyes wide as he stared at the young woman.

 

“Princess Allison, Major Royal House of Argent,” she said, giving a very pretty curtsey.

 

Stiles bowed to her. “Welcome back to Beacon Hills, Princess Allison.”

 

She knelt in front of him and kissed his hand, squeezing it gently, and he helped her to her feet. “Happy birthday, Stiles. It’s good to see you again. It’s been years.”

 

“Ten years, to be exact,” he said, holding her hand and looking at Scott over his shoulder. “You remember my buddy Scott McCall, don’t you?”

 

Allison smiled again, her eyes brightening and dimples showing as Stiles placed her hand in Scott’s. “Hello, Scott.”

 

“Princess, it’s an honor to meet you again,” Scott said, bowing quickly over her hand and placing a kiss on it.

 

_Go for it, dude!_ Stiles gave Scott a wink over her shoulder.

 

He smiled smugly as he watched his best friend trying his best not to make an ass of himself in front of Allison. That was what a bro was for; and Stiles was an excellent wingman. He felt his father’s hand on his shoulder and he looked up to see the sardonic grin on his lips, eyebrow raised, blue eyes amused.

 

“We welcome all of the Alpha Heirs and we hope that you’ll continue the celebration until the time of the Prince’s Choosing,” his father said to the Court; and for the first time that night, Stiles took a deep breath and relaxed his shoulders as the members of the Royal Court turned their attentions to other entertainment. “Walk with me, son.”

 

“Sure.” He said, glad to get away for a few minutes.

 

“I don’t remember inviting the Argents. How strange that they received an invitation,” his father said, giving Stiles a very strong one-armed hug.

 

“Well, you know,” Stiles said, looking over his shoulder to see Scott and Allison standing close and talking, both of them looking rather shy but pleased to be in each other’s company. “I thought maybe it was time to give them a little peace offering, considering that the Argents have left well enough alone for a long time. You know, as a show of bridging the gap between the packs and all.”

 

John raised his eyebrow. “Uh-huh. So I guess it had nothing to do with the fact that Scott has had a crush on the Argent girl?”

 

“What? Oh, that? Well, yeah…” He chuckled, shaking his head. “Sometimes, true love needs a little helpful push.”

 

“I’m proud of you, son,” John said, turning around and putting his hands on Stiles’s shoulders. “A peace offering to the Argents on the eve of your Choosing sends the right message to the Court. We can’t afford to hold grudges; and a marriage between their two families will bring our packs even closer. I know you weren’t thinking about the political ramifications of your actions, but the outcome will be in your favor – that you showed them friendship and made the first move; that you unselfishly allowed for her and Scott to be together when you could’ve easily taken her as your mate. You’re going to be a good ruler, Stiles, I’ve always known you would.”

 

Stiles pressed his lips together and smiled, feeling warm from his father’s praise. He laughed, hugging him, and reveled in the feeling of his father’s strong embrace. “Thanks, dad, that means a lot to me, that you’re proud of me.”

 

John released him and wrapped his hands around Stiles’s neck. “I know you need some space after all that. Why don’t you take a moment for yourself and think about choosing your mate.”

 

“Yeah, yeah, thanks, I think that’s a great idea,” he said, relieved. “I’m just going to take a walk to the south balcony and think things through, okay?”

 

“Go ahead,” his father said, patting him on the back.

 

Stiles watched as his father walked across the Main Hall to Prince Chris Argent, holding out his hand in welcome to the handsome older man. He saw the wariness on Chris’s face, but shook the proffered hand, the tension leaving his face. Stiles glanced at Scott and Allison, smiling and giving Scott a thumb’s up when his best friend smiled at him, puppy eyes and gratitude on his face.

 

_All was well in his world,_ Stiles thought, as he left the Main Hall, waving the Royal Guards away as he stepped into the hallway towards the garden balconies. Maybe he’d find some happiness for himself tonight. He had until midnight to make his selection – and he had to make a selection or his father would be forced to do it himself. He knew he couldn’t bring that kind of embarrassment on his dad; but Stiles wasn’t sure which of the Alpha Heirs he wanted to mate.

 

He stepped out onto the balcony overlooking the gardens and the Stilinski lands beyond. The Palace was situated on top of the hill, overlooking the town with the Preserve surrounding it. He heard the clock chime ten times; he had two hours to make a decision that would change his life forever.

 

Mentally, he catalogued and dismissed each Alpha Heir who had offered a suit tonight, lingering on a fantasy about Lydia, sitting beside her on their matching thrones and holding hands. She would turn and smile at him as he offered to conquer the world for her. He was such a pathetic romantic.

 

He leaned his elbows on the marble balustrade, sighing deeply. This really kind of sucked; a part of him wished that his father would just select one of the Alphas and marry him off. That way, he wouldn’t be accountable to the miserable life he would lead after tonight. Another part of him contemplated jumping off the balcony and making a run for it, but there was no place on earth that he could hide or didn’t know him or his status or his scent. It was so strange to be the Royal Omega, he wondered what it would feel like to just be Stiles Stilinski.

 

“Oh, sorry, I didn’t know anyone was out here,” a man said from behind him.

 

Stiles stood up, startled that he didn’t even sense him. He smiled, running his hand through his hair. “Hey, it’s not a problem, big guy. The balcony is big enough for two.”

 

He could see the man in the shadows, the outline of his strong shoulders, the moonlight dancing across his handsome face, the sharp edges of his jaw line, furred with a light beard. He wore a tuxedo like the rest of the party and Stiles let down his guard.

 

“You’re an Alpha,” Stiles said, leaning against the balcony railing to get a better look at his guest. “Are you mated?”

 

“No,” he said, his voice low and gruff.

 

“You weren’t part of the procession?” Stiles said, and then laughed, shaking his head. “Sorry, that was presumptuous of me.”

 

The man chuckled. “I am an unmated Alpha of a Royal House, if that’s what you’re asking.”

 

“Oh, which one?” He murmured, curiously. “May I ask why you wouldn’t want to, um…how do I say this without coming off as a total asshole?”

 

“Make an official suit?” He said, turning to look at Stiles. “Would you accept if I did?”

 

“Man, I don’t even know your name or your House proper,” he said, feeling a little giddy. He met the man’s eyes, set underneath a pair of expressive eyebrows. He was strangely pleased to see that the man’s eyes were green but flecked with other colors. He could also see a bit of the Alpha red coming through, simmering underneath. Stiles inhaled deeply, scenting him, not surprised to find that the mystery man was appealing to his senses.

 

“And if I introduced myself, what then?”

 

“Then we’d know each other,” he said, smiling. “I’m Stiles Stilinski.”

 

The man raised his eyebrows. “That’s not your full title, is it? I heard it’s rather impressive.”

 

Stiles rolled his eyes. “More like it’s pretentious – fine. I’m the Royal Omega Prince Gemin, First Royal House of Stilinski.” He leaned closer towards the man. “But you can call me Stiles.”

 

“ _First_ Royal House,” he said, roughly. “ _First_ of the Lycaon line.”

 

“That’s what all the history books say.”

 

His nostrils flared for a moment as he scented Stiles and Stiles swallowed, knowing that the Alpha had caught the scent of his pheromones.

 

“I’m Derek, Royal House of Hale.”

 

“Derek—“ Stiles said and then gasped, his eyes widening. “Excuse me, but did you say the House of Hale? Derek…Hale?”

 

Derek grinned at him. “Have you heard of me, Stiles?”

 

“Your House was exiled…you’re not supposed to be here,” he whispered, stepping backwards away from him. “You can’t be here; if they find you, you’ll be put to immediate death.”

 

_What the hell was a member of the House of Hale doing in Beacon Hills?_

 

“Then they better not find me,” Derek said, growling slightly. “Don’t run, Stiles.”

 

Stiles shook his head. “I won’t—I won’t say anything if you leave right now, right the fuck now.”

 

“I’ve got one more thing to do before I go,” Derek said, reaching into his pocket.

 

He opened his mouth to call for the Royal Guards, but Derek opened his palm and blew something into Stiles’s face. It was ash of some sort and Stiles coughed, falling against the balcony railing, blinking up at Derek.

 

“What—what the fuck—“

 

Derek caught him, holding him in his arms and Stiles felt his body become limp. He let out a weak growl, trying to call out to someone – anyone – but he couldn’t keep his eyes opened. The last thing he saw before he blacked out was the sight of Derek Hale’s red Alpha eyes glaring down at him. 


	4. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Kidnapping, rape/non-con, angst, mention of Omega heat, knotting. NON-CON! Stiles is raped by Derek. 
> 
> Please heed the warnings for triggery themes.

**CHAPTER THREE**

 

Stiles felt like he was swimming in thick water, his lungs empty as he looked up to the surface, a warm light the only beacon in his darkness. He crawled through the gelatinous blackness of his subconscious and broke the surface, opening his eyes and gasping for breath. He turned and coughed, running a shaking hand over his face as he looked at his surroundings.

 

_Where the hell was he?_

 

He wasn’t on the balcony of his family home; instead, he was lying on a plush bed with dark wine colored sheets and pillows, the high ceilings of what looked like an industrial warehouse above him. He tried to catalog everything around him, his senses on high alert. He wasn’t tied up or bound; he wasn’t injured beyond being knocked out with some mysterious powder. He didn’t seem to be in immediate danger but that didn’t mean anything. He knew that a situation like this could turn hostile in a second. He sat up slowly and took a steadying breath, scenting the Alpha who took him.

 

Derek Hale was sitting on a battered blue velvet couch, his tuxedo jacket off, bowtie gone, white shirt wrinkled and undone at the collar, and his sleeves rolled up. He stared at Stiles, unmoving. Stiles wondered how long Derek sat there waiting for him to wake up.

 

“How long was I out?” He ventured, carefully.

 

“Five hours.”

 

“Man, what the hell was in that stuff?” Stiles said, conversationally, his voice still a little hoarse and dry from whatever powder Derek had doused him with. “Where are we? Is this your place? It’s nice…very warehouse chic.”

 

The Alpha stared at him, his eyes glowing red for just a brief moment. “Do you know why the Choosing ceremony is always on the eve of the 21st year of a werewolf’s life?”

 

“Because it’s the legal age to mate? Come on, Derek, just tell me what’s going on.”

 

“In a werewolf’s 21st year, he comes into his werewolf maturity. Legend says that the first werewolves took 21 cycles for a werewolf to come into their power; that they were reborn on their 21st year of life, which is why werewolves want to mate when they turn 21. A werewolf who first comes to their power is…there’s nothing more alluring. No human can understand what means to our kind,” Derek said, looking at his hands.

 

“I’ve had the same history lessons as you. What am I doing here, Derek?”

 

Stiles knew what he needed to do; as Royal Heir, he was well tutored in kidnapping situations. He knew to keep a level head, to maintain eye contact, to keep them talking. His father’s best guards had run him through every type of scenario that Stiles could face. They taught him that no one could withstand torture; that even if he broke, he could not lose hope. They kept him physically fit so that he could fight back or at least hold on until they could track his scent and find him. They taught him how to fight dirty – physically, emotionally, and psychologically. They taught him to keep his mind alert and to look for opportunities for escape.  

 

They also taught him to be deceptively fragile; to let the stereotype of being a pampered Royal Omega Prince work in his favor. They taught him to look meek, to not fight back immediately if he didn’t need to, so he could hold his weapon of surprise in reserve.

 

Stiles let his shoulders curve in and he looked up at the Alpha. “Isn’t it dangerous for you to be back in Beacon Hills?”

 

Derek sneered at him, showing his fangs.

 

“Okay,” Stiles drawled, raising his eyebrows. “Be that as it may, your House is exiled. They’ll know it was you. I mean, do you even know what the punishment is for you to be on Stilinski territory?”

 

 “The Stilinskis don’t own Beacon Hills.”

 

He knew that he had to step carefully; he had to stay calm and not let Derek’s insults get him going. “Okay, well, that’s kind of not up for debate since my father is the King of all the packs.”

 

“These lands were stolen from the Hales years ago,” Derek said, glaring at him. “The Stilinskis came here under a flag of friendship and peace and gutted my family to pieces and took all of our lands.”

 

“Bullshit. My Grandfather won these lands,” Stiles said, sitting up and sliding to the edge of the bed, putting his feet on the floor. He wasn’t going to let some rogue werewolf rewrite history. “You can say what you want about me, but don’t talk about my family like that.”

 

“The Hales have always owned these lands for three generations!”

 

“The history books say that the Stilinskis freed the werewolves and humans who were—“

 

“The history books are wrong! They’re filled with lies,” Derek shouted, standing up and stalking over to Stiles. “Lies perpetrated by false victors; written down like they’re the truth.”

 

“It is the truth! There was a reason why your House was exiled! Your family broke the Pack Accords!”

 

Derek laughed, derisively. “What do you know about my family?”

 

“That you turned humans into werewolves without their consent! That the Hale pack only gained power by forcing the bite and taking mates without permission,” Stiles said, staring up at Derek defiantly. “The werewolves of Hale pack are nothing but rabid animals; abominations—“

 

“Shut your mouth, Omega!” Derek roared, his Alpha voice vibrating through Stiles, forcing him to flinch at the strength and power in his voice. It was nothing like Stiles had ever experienced before; more potent than his father’s Alpha voice. “Don’t ever call me an abomination again if you want to survive this night.”

 

“Then don’t prove yourself to be one,” Stiles said, trying to calm himself. He had to change tactics; he would never survive an attack from an Alpha werewolf. He healed quickly but not from an Alpha’s attack. “Just let me go, Derek. I know you don’t want to hurt me.”

 

“It’s too late for us,” the Alpha said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “It’s too late for you. _Don’t_ make me hurt you.”

 

But Stiles refused to cower; he refused to be mastered. His pride wouldn’t allow it. No Alpha controlled him. He breathed deeply and roared at Derek, his werewolf coming to the surface as he let loose the sound of his call to anyone listening for him.

 

Derek’s hand covered his mouth and he shoved Stiles back on the bed, holding him down with his solid weight. Stiles bit into his palm mercilessly, tasting blood, and growled a warning for more against his palm. He clawed at the Alpha, shredding his shirt and slicing his skin, the wild scent of blood and sweat and – and that _scent_ filling his nose. He knew the wounds would close, the Alpha’s ability to heal kicking in with every bite and cut that Stiles could give, but that didn’t mean that Stiles was going to just take it.

 

“Stop struggling,” the Alpha hissed against his ear, holding him down with his body. Stiles breathed through his nose, glaring up at Derek. He couldn’t ignore the heat of Derek’s body weighing him down, the sheer strength of his Alpha, and his scent – _ohmygod, his scent_ ; no one had warned Stiles about an Alpha’s scent. He spent all of his life in a protected sphere, his interactions with Alphas carefully selected and monitored. No one ever told him that as an Omega, he would be so _attracted_ to the musk of an Alpha werewolf like Derek Hale.

 

He refused to let it incapacitate him. Stiles grabbed Derek’s wrist and jerked his hand away, glaring up at the werewolf. “Get off me, loser.”

 

Derek grabbed Stiles’s wrists, pinning them down on the bed beside his head. His powerful legs kneed between Stiles’s thighs, his knees digging into Stiles’s thighs to hold him down. The only thing Stiles could do was wriggle, try to unseat the Alpha, but ultimately, he knew he was powerless against Derek’s superior strength.

 

“Why are you doing this?” Stiles shouted up at him, trying to pull his wrists away but it was like tugging on steel bands. “This is insane!”

 

“You’re just going to wear yourself down, little Omega,” Derek hissed at him, grinning. “Though maybe it’ll be better for you if you’re too tired to fight.”

 

“What?”

 

“I took you on the night of your Choosing because I’m going to mate with you to take back what is rightfully mine,” Derek said, his eyes turning red. “It’s the only way.”

 

Stiles shook his head. “No, you wouldn’t, not this. Not like this, Derek!”

 

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he said, his voice a low, gravelly growl. “Don’t fight me and don’t run. That’ll only get my blood up and my werewolf will tear you apart to have you.”

 

“Don’t fucking do this. Please. _Please_!”

 

Derek held up his hand, claws coming out, and he ripped through the layers of Stiles’s formal clothes. Stiles growled, fighting back with his free hand and his sharp teeth, his claws gouging Derek’s shoulders and arms, fighting every step of the way. He would rather die than allow this to happen. He would rather break his own neck than let Derek Hale touch him with a mate’s hands.

 

“Get off me! You motherfucker!” Stiles shouted, growling low and biting Derek’s chest, taking a chunk of flesh with him as Derek shoved his head away, holding him down with his hand pressing against his throat, choking off his breath.

 

“This won’t take long,” Derek said, disinterestedly, stripping the last of Stiles’s clothes from his body and flipping him around, pressing his face into the sheets.

 

“Everything that they’ve ever said about you is true,” he said, turning his head to look over his shoulder at Derek. “You’re nothing but a sadist and a rapist. There’s no way that I’ll ever give you my throne. I’ll kill you as soon as you turn your back!”

 

Derek stilled, hands curled over his shoulders, his eyes ruby red as they bore down on Stiles. “I just have to knot you once and you’re mine. _Everything_ you have is mine.”

 

“You can’t force my Choosing on me.”

 

The Alpha took a deep breath, his green eyes darkening. “But I can trigger your heat. Do you want it that way instead? Begging me to fuck you? I can make you want it.”

 

Omega heat. Stiles had felt it once when he turned 13-years old. Puberty wasn’t kind to him and his first heat was the most embarrassing experience of his teenage life. The burning, unspeakable need to want to mate, the hours he spent locked in his bedroom, how he had howled for someone to claim him and fuck him, armed Beta guards posted outside because no Alpha was allowed to be anywhere near his part of the Palace and any Alpha who attempted to approach his hall would be shot with Wolfsbane bullets on sight; Stiles could hear the random howls of Alpha werewolves calling for him as he feverishly jerked off.  He was ashamed of himself, stroking his cock raw so that he couldn’t bear to touch it for weeks afterwards. The heat had lasted for two of the longest days of his life and Stiles had humped his bed, his pillow, and fucked himself on his fingers, nothing easing the burning until the heat dissipated.

 

Scott was the only Alpha trusted enough into his room; he found Stiles nearly incoherent, semi-conscious, and physically exhausted. Stiles couldn’t even look at his best friend, crying against sheets drenched in his fluids. Scott had quietly cleaned him up, fetched him steak burgers and curly fries, and cheerfully played videogames with him for hours until Stiles’s shame at losing control ebbed away.

 

_There was no way that he was going to allow Derek to see him like that._

 

Stiles swallowed and looked away. “If you’re asking about my preferences, I would prefer not to be raped!”

 

He felt Derek’s hands shake against his shoulders. “I’m sorry that it has to be like this, but it’s the only way.”

 

“No, this is not the only way! I swear, Derek, this isn’t the only way. You can talk to my father, he’s a reasonable man; you can make a new allegiance to him and ask for your House to be reinstated! I’ll support you; I’ll petition the Court – anything I can do, any influence I have, I promise I’ll use it to help you. Just don’t do this, okay? You said you didn’t want to hurt me!”

“I _don’t_ want to hurt you…but I don’t have a choice.”

 

“Stop, please stop. Derek, please don’t do this. There is no going back if you do this,” Stiles said, desperately. He tried to move again, but Derek pressed his hand on Stiles’s back, pinning him to the bed as he reached under the pillow for a small tube. Stiles knew what it was and he buried his face against the bedding, shaking his head. “No, ohmygod, this can’t be happening. Derek, don’t force this bond on us like this. You don’t want me; you don’t want to be bonded to me. I’m loud and obnoxious and I’ll never obey you in anything. You can’t want to—to do this.”

 

He froze when he heard the snap of the tube open, the sound of Derek undoing his pants and pulling down the zipper. He gasped at the feel of the cold lube on his lower back, fingers sliding through the gel, and Derek’s knees pushing Stiles’s legs apart.

 

“Please. I’ve never done this before,” Stiles whispered, feeling his entire body flush in humiliation. He could hear his heart racing and hear his blood rushing in his ears.

 

“I know,” Derek said, softly. “I’m…I have to prep you.”

 

He couldn’t stop Derek; but that didn’t mean that Stiles had to accept what was happening to him. He grabbed the sheets and hid his face, clenching his teeth when he felt wet Derek’s fingers slide against his opening, one finger probing inside slowly. He wasn’t going to give Derek the satisfaction of knowing that this was killing him; that just because he had stopped fighting didn’t mean that he wanted it to happen. His werewolf whimpered, uncertain of what was happening, but Stiles kept it in, squeezing his eyes shut as Derek slid another finger inside of him.

 

When his father’s guards were teaching him about how to withstand torture, Stiles never imagined that he’d have to put those tactics in place on the night of his mating. He never once thought that he’d ever have to defend himself from this; that a crime like this would ever touch him. He focused on his breathing, trying to keep it even, and he slowly sank into his own mind, taking comfort in the presence of his werewolf as he felt Derek press his thickness inside of him.

 

Stiles knew how to work through pain; he was trained for that. He allowed his body to unclench and go limp, knowing that it would be over soon. He would just wait for it to end and he would – he would get his justice and his revenge for this later. He knew that this wasn’t of his Choosing and his werewolf would never accept the bond that Derek was forcing on him. No werewolf would ever think of harming their mate and to start off like this was horrifying and disgusting. He would not wear the stench of the Alpha rutting into him, now or ever.

 

Derek kept moving against him, his silence unnerving. But Stiles wouldn’t have wanted to hear Derek grunting out his pleasure. He remained detached, his mind completely focused on the physical act in a clinical manner, his body bearing the brunt of the attack. He bit down on the bedding when he felt the thick knot slip inside of him.

 

“You bastard,” Stiles mumbled, angrily, ripping through the bedding and the mattress with his claws.

 

He felt Derek pant against his neck, fangs pressing against his vulnerable skin and biting down deep as he trembled against Stiles.

 

Stiles groaned, feeling the mating bond snap into place, something clicking in his head and pulling him back to the reality of what was happening to him. Too shocked to stop himself, he let out a roar as he smelled his blood leaking down his neck as Derek bit down hard.

 

“Stop, god, just stop, please stop,” he said, panting noisily.

 

Derek growled, letting go of his neck and jerking hard against him. Stiles bit back a moan when he felt the knot push higher inside of him, cock pulsing, the pain sharpening so much that he could no longer ignore it. He felt Derek press his face against Stiles’s sweat damp hair, rubbing his face and beard against him, scent marking him.

 

Stiles whimpered, his werewolf churning under his skin, wanting to come out to run and bite and howl. He was mated to the Alpha now; his instincts imprinted on Derek’s werewolf, recognizing him as mate while Stiles refused to accept it.

 

He turned his face to the side, staring blindly out at the loft as Derek panted heavily, shivering now and then. His body throbbed hotly around Derek’s cock, muscles twitching involuntarily as Stiles tried to manage the physical ache of the mating and his anguish that the bond had formed.

 

“I’m sorry,” Derek whispered, trembling against him. “I’m sorry, Stiles.”

 

“Fuck you,” he said, mechanically.

 

Derek nodded against his shoulder, his hand wrapped possessively around Stiles’s waist. “I’m sorry…I’m sorry…but I’m not finished with you yet.”

 

Stiles closed his eyes.


	5. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Werewolf violence; minor bloodshed.

**CHAPTER FOUR**

 

Beacon Hills was a small town in northern California. It wasn’t exactly a glamorous town, but the Stilinski family wasn’t about glamour or showmanship. The Stilinski pack could have easily ruled from a major metropolis like Los Angeles or New York, but the Royal Family preferred the quietude of Beacon Hills.

Despite the notoriety of being the seat of the First Royal House, it looked and felt like any other small town in the States. There was a picturesque Main Street populated with small boutique stores and services, an independent coffeehouse, and a number of fast food restaurants. Surrounding the town was the sprawling shopping mall with the big name brands. There was a thriving downtown area with tall office buildings, a blend of modern glass high rises and old fashioned converted brick row houses, and a few public parks scattered throughout. There was the Sheriff’s Department and City Hall. Just beyond were the hospitals, the neighborhoods, the schools, and the Preserves surrounded the town.

The town had their own special holidays, celebrating both human and werewolf communities. In fact, Beacon Hills was a party town. There was always something going on – a festival, a fair, a harvest, a moon dance, a charity event, a fundraiser, a school event – and everyone enjoyed an idyllic small town life. The decades of darkness and fear were over as soon as the Stilinski pack moved into the territory, opening the Palace to invite all citizens of Beacon Hills inside its marbled halls.

The Palace was situated on a hill overlooking the town, an immense stone monument of the Alpha King, his Royal Court retinue and guards, and the werewolves who protected the town. Unlike some other packs, the Beacon Hills werewolves lived peacefully among the humans, not so much as their gentle rulers but as guardians of their community. Members of other packs wanted to live in Beacon Hills because Alpha King John Stilinski ruled with human compassion and not with his werewolf claws. Stiles was born and bred in Beacon Hills and he was perfectly happy with his hometown and he looked forward to the time when he could take the mantel of his father’s throne and become the new protector of his town and of the werewolf packs.

 _Some protector,_ Stiles thought to himself as he chewed on his thumb nail, _how the hell was he going to protect the citizens of Beacon Hills if he couldn’t even protect himself from a forced Choosing?_

Stiles glared out of the passenger side window as Derek drove them back to Beacon Hills, back to the Palace. He was still so fucking furious, mostly because Derek didn't give Stiles the courtesy of letting him take a shower and gave him clothes to wear that were heavily marked with Derek’s scent. Three days of being held captive in Derek's loft, bound to an Alpha that wouldn't talk to him, wouldn't touch him after that first mating - not that Stiles wanted the Alpha to touch him. There was no affection, no human feeling or love or anything. And now, being stuck in the tight confines of the Camaro with the mixed musk of Alpha werewolf and Stiles's own scent everywhere, was slowly driving Stiles insane, his emotions moving wildly from one feeling to the next - anger to depression to shame to sadness - and his wolf simmering under his skin.  _Mated._

Fucker.

“They’re going to have road blocks,” Stiles said as Derek took the back roads behind the Preserves. It wasn't because he wanted to warn him because the Alpha couldn't possibly be that stupid, could he? Stiles just didn't want to see any of the Royal Guards or the Sheriff’s people hurt because...because of what...because Stiles wore the _stink_ and the marks of the Alpha. 

“I know the emergency plans.”

Figures the dickwad would know. His wolf whined and Stiles shut off any thought of wanting to  _please_  the Alpha. 

“And what are you going to tell them when you get pulled over for kidnapping me, genius?”

“I won’t need to say anything.”

Stiles laughed until he realized that Derek was right. He was right because everyone would know the minute they scented Stiles; everyone would know exactly what happened to him.

“I hate you.”

Derek frowned. “What’s done is done. I told you that I didn’t want to…do what I did. It was a necessary means to an end.”

“Fuck you and your necessary means to an end. You fucked up what was supposed to be the best night of my life, my Choosing, and took every choice away from me. And now we’re stuck together until one of us dies. Great thinking there, Derek, I hope your necessary means to an end is going to be worth being miserable for the rest of our lives.”

Stiles slumped back in the seat, turning away and covering his head with his arm. If this was his Choosing, he and his new mate would have the luxury of hiding out in his new suite of rooms on the east side of the Palace, privacy and discretion afforded them for as long as they needed to bond. He had looked forward to the knowing grins from his father and Scott; of having tea with Scott's mother, Melissa, as she told him stories of Amazonian honeymoon rites (for those Amazonians who decided to let their new spouse _survive_ the wedding night); and friendly teasing from the Royal Guards assigned to him. He would've spent the day opening his gifts and writing thank you notes to everyone who attended his Choosing. He would've gotten to know his new mate in all the special ways that bonded mates would, having the best sex of his virgin life, laughing about how sore he was and sharing secret looks with his mate. That's what the days following his Choosing would've been like. 

Not this; not anger and sadness and loss.

He felt his face heat up in shame, staring blearily out the glass.

“Asshole,” he muttered, crossing his arms across his chest as he sank down further in the leather seat.

Derek continued to ignore him and abruptly turned the car off the main road, the single lane road overgrown with forest life. He didn’t know that there even was a road into the Preserves. Stiles sat up, tension tightening his shoulders as he turned to look at the Alpha.

“This won’t take us to the Palace.”

“I know,” Derek gritted out, carefully maneuvering the car along the bumpy, unpaved road.

Stiles snorted. “So where are we going? Are you planning to rip my throat out and leave me to die out on the Preserves?”

“We’re mates now. I could never…damage you like that.”

“Could never damage me like that,” Stiles muttered, unimpressed. “Wow, you’re a veritable sweet talking lothario, aren’t you? How about the fact that you’ve already damaged me; let’s talk about that.”

The car stopped and Stiles slammed his hands against the dashboard.

“Jesus, who taught you how to drive? Where are we anyway?”

Derek ignored Stiles and sat back in his seat, both of his hands curled tight around the steering wheel.

“What is this place?”

Stiles looked out the window to stare at the blackened remains of what would’ve been a lovely country mansion. It was at least three floors high with a stone foundation and a front porch that stretched the length of the house. The back half of the house had no standing walls, broken beams naked in the sunlight. The stain glass windows that survived bore the marks of black flames.  This part of the Preserves was protected lands and off limits so Stiles never knew this existed. Whenever he and Scott got a chance to explore, Scott never let Stiles get beyond the limits of the Palace woods.

“This used to be my family home,” Derek said, looking up at the house. “A couple of hundred years ago, this was just a valley with a forest surrounding it. Unclaimed territory at the time. My Great Great Grandfather built this house to honor his new mate – his wife and Alpha – when Hale pack founded Beacon Hills. The Hales have always had a maternal Alpha line, led by the strongest female werewolves in our bloodline. We lived in peace with other packs and with humans. This was my family’s home for over a century. I was born in that house. My mother, my uncle, my sisters and brothers were all born here. When our families and packs grew, they built cottages around the main house – all burned down like this. Twenty-three died that day; eight of them in my family. Only three of us survived and we were exiled; spared only to serve as an example to other packs who would defy the Stilinskis. Nothing remains; just the ash and bones of my family! We couldn’t even give them a proper burial.”

“What? No, that’s not—it can’t…my father said that Beacon Hills belonged to a small pack, but that it was stolen by the Hales who subjugated the town,” he said, keeping his tone in check. “That was why the Stilinski pack took over. The town asked my Grandfather to free them.”

Derek laughed meanly and shook his head. “The victors rewrite the history books.” He let out a deep breath. “What would you know of history anyway? You were just a pup when this happened.”

“Look, I’m not an idiot. I would’ve heard about this! The Palace is like the centerpiece of gossip and something like this wouldn’t stay secret for very long. So what you’re saying doesn’t make any sense.”

“Your Grandfather came to Beacon Hills, to my mother, who was Alpha at the time, to ask for sanctuary for his pack and to set roots on our territory. But he betrayed her. Us. One morning, while my sister and I were at school, he and Gerard Argent came to the house, locked everyone inside, and burned them alive.” Derek stared at Stiles, but he wasn’t _looking_ at Stiles. His hazel eyes were distant with memory. “My parents! My baby brothers and my little sisters; my Uncle’s pregnant wife; my cousins and their families; the Betas that were part of our pack. Burned them all alive, Stiles.”

He was horrified; he couldn’t imagine that kind of violence and loss. But he also couldn’t believe that his family could do what Derek accused them of doing. Stiles was certain that Derek misunderstood; the history books all stated that it was a dark time for all the packs and the Stilinskis brought a hard earned peace across the kingdom. His father was a man of peace; he couldn’t imagine his Grandfather was anything but a good and fair Alpha King.

“Wait, did you say the Argents? I mean, our families have never been close and that they left Beacon Hills to start their own Royal House. Why would they do this?”

“You don’t know anything about your family.” Derek hissed, sneering at Stiles. “Why do you think the Argents were forced out? Because of his loyal service in killing my pack, your Grandfather gave Gerard a choice: He could kneel at the Stilinski’s feet like the rest of us or he could leave California forever. Your Grandfather was nothing more than a power hungry Alpha who—“

Stiles slapped him across the face, his palm stinging.

Derek’s eyes flashed red and his fangs dropped, snarling right into Stiles’s face. He snapped his teeth angrily, his hot breath against Stiles’s cheek, but he never touched Stiles.

“That’s enough, Derek,” Stiles said, his ears burning with fury. “I’m so sorry for what happened to your family and to your pack, but it wasn’t my pack. You can’t blame us, not without proof.”

“You don’t have proof to claim your family’s innocence.”

“Fine, you know what, I’ll ask my dad when we get back to the Palace, all right? Is that cool with you?”

“Yeah, why don’t you ask your father what happened the day that we were exiled. He was Prince Heir then, he stood next to your Grandfather in the throne room and saw everything that happened,” Derek snarled, eyes narrowing and blazing red.

“I don’t believe you, man.”

Derek growled. “How long do you think you’ll be able to hide from the truth now, Stiles? When I present you to the Royal Court as my mate, I’m going to demand that my House and my name and my title and everything that was stolen from me be reinstated. _With interest._ I’m going to take the Alpha King throne and we’ll see what happens after that. I’ll exile your family, your friends, everyone you care about. And if I’m feeling merciful, I might send you with them. But I might keep you as hostage to ensure that your family suffers as much as we have. Your father won’t be able to deny my rights and my claims then! And everyone will know the truth of what your family did to mine.”

He reached past Stiles, tracing a spiral on the window with his finger. Stiles pushed back against the seat, staring at the symbol on the fogged up glass. _Vendetta._

Derek put the car into gear and turned the car around to speed back along the uneven ground back to the main road.

“You’re wrong,” he whispered, curling his shaking hands into fists. Because Derek seemed so certain; he seemed so _genuine_. Because Derek had to be delusional; something must have broken in him after the death of his family. Because if Stiles believed that Derek was telling the truth, then…then how could he…everything he knew about his family, his dad, about himself…it didn’t make sense. “No, they would never do that.”

“You’ll find out soon enough.”

“The Royal Court and the other packs won’t follow you,” Stiles said, breathing quickly. “They’d never go against my father.”

“The Court will go with the strongest Alpha; and unless your father wants to challenge me to the death for the throne, the Court will do what I say.”

Stiles stared at him, frowning. “What the hell kind of monster are you?”

The car sped along the curvy downhill single lane road, slowing down when they saw the blue and red flashing lights of the two Sheriff’s Department vehicles blocking the road.

Stiles felt his heart beating hard in his chest and his hand gripped the leather seat. Derek stopped the car and lowered his window, staring stoically at the two deputies walking towards them, their hands on their gun holsters. Stiles recognized them as Deputy Barnes and Deputy McCarin, who were once part of Stiles’s Royal Guards before they took new positions in the Sheriff’s Department.

“Deputy,” Derek said, nodding his head once.

“Stiles! Thank God, Stiles! I mean, Your Highness!”

Stiles looked up as Deputy McCarin hurried towards his side of the car. “Hey, Mac.” He nodded his head to Barnes. “It’s good to see you, Barnsy.”

“Your Highness, are you all right?” Barnes asked, flicking his eyes to Derek.

“Well, that depends on your definition of ‘all right.’”

“Put the car in park and get out of the vehicle slowly, sir. Mac! You look over the Prince to make sure he’s okay.” Deputy Barnes said, standing a few yards from the car, unsnapping the leather strap over his weapon as he kept his eyes on Derek. “Please keep your hands where I can see them.”

Derek turned off the engine and got out of the car slowly. The passenger side door opened and Stiles stepped out, trying for a reassuring smile as McCarin looked him over. His nostrils flared and he took a discreet sniff. He took two steps back, eyes widening in recognition.

“Barnes, he’s wearing the Alpha’s scent,” the deputy said, his voice tight and low. “Your Highness, are you hurt? We’ve been searching for you since the night of your Choosing.”

Stiles blushed and stared at the ground, his hands fidgeting on the hem of the sweatshirt he wore. “I’m not injured.”

“But you’ve been claimed?”

Stiles nodded, reluctantly. It wasn’t like he could lie about it. “I’ve…been mated. To him.”

“With one hand, give me your identification, please,” Barnes said, staring at Derek.

Derek handed over his wallet and watched as the deputy opened it, looking at his license. Stiles chewed on his ragged thumb nail, thrumming with anxiousness.

“Derek Hale…of Hale pack?” He stared at Derek. “House of Hale was exiled—“

“I’m the rightful _Prince_ of the _Major_ House of Hale, Deputy, and I’ve come to reclaim my territory and now my place on the Alpha throne. The Prince Heir is my mate. We’re on our way to the Palace,” he said, looking over at Stiles, eyes flashing red at McCarin who was standing near Stiles. The deputy took another step away from Stiles, keeping a more than polite distance. Newly bonded mates were antsy about other werewolves being too close in the first months of their mating; it was also considered bad manners to touch someone’s mate, especially the Royal Omega.

 _Great, now he had to deal with a possessive Alpha;_ Stiles rolled his eyes.

“But how did this…how did you…you’ve claimed him?” Barnes said, awkwardly trying to find the right words.

“We’ve bonded,” Derek announced, a smile creeping up on his lips.

The deputy returned the wallet and looked nervously at his partner and then back at Derek again. “We’ll provide you with an escort to the Palace, Prince Derek.”

Derek nodded and turned back to the car. He pointed for Stiles to get back into the car. The Sheriff Department vehicles moved, one of them pulling forward, the other moving behind the Camaro. Stiles bit his lip and breathed slowly, trembling in his seat.

_What would his father say?_

_What would the Royal Court think?_

They’d all be able to scent him…and _they would_ _know, ohmygod, they would know_ what happened to him. Everyone would know, not just in Beacon Hills, but all throughout the 50 packs. Tabloids and gossip columns and national news programs and late show comedians and…everyone would know.

_That he was forced._

_That he couldn’t stop Derek._

_That it was his fault._

Unlike human marriages, there was no “divorce” in werewolf society. Bonds couldn’t be broken, which was why there was so much care and deliberation during werewolf matings. No refunds, no take backs, no returns…there was no going back. Death was the only way to end a bond and even then…Stiles’s father would never take another mate. He was sure that his father had lovers, but his affairs were discreet. He could marry again, but it would never be the same as the bond he shared with Stiles’s mother, Queen Myrine. It would only be a political marriage, so his father staying single made him a very attractive ally.

_Death was the only way to end a bond._

Stiles glanced over at Derek, his jaw clenched, eyes sharp on the road. Werewolves were difficult to kill, but it could be done. Stiles knew what made werewolves vulnerable. He could always ask Melissa. She would understand – she would probably help him; she had made a blood promise to Myrine to look after Stiles like her own son.

He stared through the windshield, his hands clasped tightly in his lap, trying to stop the trembling. He knew what would happen when they arrived at the Palace. No doubt that all the Royal Courtiers had remained there, all investigated to see if any of them had anything to do with Stiles’s kidnapping. The whole town was on lockdown, and now…Stiles would have to face his father and…

The Royal Guards at the main gates to the Palace opened the gates and allowed them to pass through. Ever professional, the guards didn’t stare at Stiles through the windows of the car, but there was no doubt that everyone in the Palace knew Stiles was coming home. The deputies would have notified his father, one of them would’ve give the King the head’s up that Stiles wasn’t returning alone.

Derek followed the Sheriff’s Department vehicle to the side of the Palace where service cars were met by the Palace staff. He parked the car and Stiles looked up to see his father standing outside, alone, looking at him.

Stiles jumped out of the car and ran to his dad, lunging in for a long, hard hug. He breathed in the familiar scents of his father and panted out, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

“I’m just glad you’re home. I’ve been so worried, Stiles,” his father said, holding him close and stroking his back. He made a soft noise, the kind that Stiles needed after his mom died, the kind that grounded him and gave him comfort. “You’re home now, you’re safe, kiddo.”

“It’s all so fucked up, dad. I fucked up—I couldn’t…”

“I understand,” his father said, meeting Stiles’s eyes. “You did nothing wrong, son.”

Stiles bit his lip and nodded, staying close to his father, even though he had stopped clinging to him. He saw his father’s gaze move past his shoulder and Stiles turned around to see Derek watching them, his eyes Alpha red.

“Derek Hale,” his father said, staring at him.

Derek didn’t say a word, his lips pressed in a tight line, eyebrows furrowed as he stared back at Stiles’s father.

“I would rather not do this out here,” John said, keeping his arm around Stiles’s shoulders. “The Palace is cleared. We can talk in my study.”

Stiles was grateful that he didn’t want to do the walk of shame through the throng of the Royal Court. There were a few Royal Guards, but they were loyal to the family and would never gossip about what happened in the Royal Household.

“I promise this won’t take long,” his father said, squeezing his arm.

“Thanks. I just want to get out of these clothes and take a long, hot bath.”

John opened the door to his private study and ushered Stiles inside first. Stiles walked into the lushly decorated circular room, glad to see that it was just his father’s closest advisor and not the entire Royal Court of Advisors.

Doctor Alan of the Major Royal House of Deaton was dressed in simple clothes rather than his ceremonial clothes and colors to show that he was a Druid and Emissary, his father’s most trusted advisor and friend. Instead, he wore his ceremonial blade holstered on his hip, a deadly curved knife that was so sharp that it could slice through a person’s neck painlessly, death striking the victim before the brain could process what had happened.

“Hey, Doc.”

“Your Highness,” Deaton said, bowing his head to Stiles. “I’m happy to see that you are…” His pleased expression changed to one of bewilderment to understanding and to anger as he scented Stiles. His dark brown eyes slid to Derek as he came into the room, John closing the door sharply behind them. “Derek Hale.”

Stiles gasped when John grabbed Derek by his shirt, slamming him against the door, his arm pressing against Derek’s throat.

“I should kill you where you stand for what you did to Stiles,” John growled, his Alpha voice echoing in the room.

Derek sneered. “Why don’t you do it then? Finish me off like you did to my family, my pack. One time offer, right here and right now. Do it in front of my mate. Show him who you really are.”

“What about you? What kind of a man—an _Alpha_ werewolf—would force a Choosing on another?” John hissed at him. “You’re nothing but an animal that needs to be put down.”

“Abomination,” Deaton murmured, stepping protectively in front of Stiles.

“I’m someone who doesn’t have anything to lose,” Derek said, pushing John off and away. He took a deep breath, his chin rising as he glared at the Alpha King. “By my right, I’ve mated and bonded with your son. I claim the Royal Omega and Prince Heir. I want my House reinstated. I want my pack to have safe passage to Beacon Hills. I will take the Alpha throne. And you’ll pay for the crimes of your family.”

Stiles watched as John got himself under control, his hands on his hips as he glared at Derek.

Derek grinned. “Why don’t you ask your father now for the truth?”

“Shut up. I don’t need to ask my dad for anything. I know the truth.”

“Then what’s the harm in asking? Unless you’re afraid to know the answer.” Derek gave him a long look, a smug smile on his face.

“Dad, he said that…Grand dad and Gerard Argent killed his family and stole Beacon Hills from the Hale pack. That’s not true, is it?”

He could hear his father’s heartbeat quicken for just a moment, a flutter that he would’ve missed except that his father’s heartbeat never fluttered.

“Dad?”

Deaton stepped towards him. “Your Highness, perhaps you’d like to return to your chambers for refreshment and you and your father can speak privately.”

Stiles frowned, moving away from Deaton and looking at his father. “Dad, come on, just tell me that Derek’s full of shit.”

John met his eyes and he took a deep breath. “You must be exhausted. I’ll send Melissa to keep you company while we settle this mess with Hale.”  

“But—“

“Stiles, I am still your father and your Alpha—“

“ _I’m_ his Alpha now,” Derek cut in, brusquely.

He watched as his father accepted Derek’s claim and Stiles felt his stomach dip. It was sealed now, the Alpha King wouldn’t challenge Derek on his claim.

“Fine.”  

He walked past Deacon and saw the curved blade that he wore on his side. Stiles reached for it with his right hand, spun quickly, and jammed it into Derek’s side. The blade cut through bone and flesh and sinew with very little pressure. He met Derek’s surprised look and twisted the blade, slicing through his intestines.

Derek shouted, collapsing to his knees, his hand reaching for the handle and jerking the blade out. He threw it on the carpet, holding his hand against the wound. Blood oozed out of the wound, the stench of guts filling the room. Derek shuddered, his knees giving out on him as he fell on his side, gritting his teeth. Derek glared up at Stiles with red Alpha eyes, his face distorted with his werewolf form. Through the pain and anger, there was something else that Stiles didn’t know how to name. Pride?  

His wolf howled in shock and Stiles stomped down on the instinctual need to help his Alpha. _No, fuck no._

“You’ll heal,” Stiles said, emotionlessly. “Welcome back to Beacon Hills, Prince Derek.”

***


	6. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all of your comments and kudos on this fic. I realize that the wait is long between chapters, but it’s taking me some time to carefully plot out a few things. I’ve actually had to go back and retcon fix, in earlier chapters, a few things that have messed up my timeline of events in the story. So if there are any continuity errors, let me know and I’ll try my best to correct them.
> 
> No dire warnings in this chapter. A bit of Amazonian pack background. And Derek is not that far away, of course.

**CHAPTER FIVE**

 

Stiles doesn’t make a lot of noise when he cries.

When he was a little boy, he’d wake up in the middle of the night, terrified of the unknown darkness. Startling himself awake, he would press his face into his pillow and sob in fear, hiding his cries until he eventually fell back asleep again from sheer exhaustion. In the morning after his night terrors, Stiles would wake up to see his dad, sitting on the edge of his big boy bed, rubbing Stiles’s back gently. It only happened when Stiles had a bad night, when he would sob into his pillows or sometimes wet the bed.

Worried, his dad took Stiles to visit a child psychologist to talk about what could be causing his night terrors. The only thing that they could conclude was that Stiles was having anxiety from losing his mother.

_“She died during childbirth,” John said, frustrated. “He never had the chance to know her.”_

_“But that doesn’t mean that the Prince doesn’t feel her loss,” the psychologist told them. “His connection to the spirit of his mother is strong within him; that he’s born Omega has heightened that bond to her, even in death. It is not so simple to dismiss the core of his fear – the loss of a parent. Set up a bed time ritual where Stiles will feel safe and secure; that should help ease some of his fear, knowing that you are there when he falls asleep.”_

Before bed time, John would check his room, scare off any monsters in his closet or under the bed, and curl up with Stiles in his bed, marking him with his scent and whispering that Stiles was a good boy, safe in his room, and that he’d sleep through the night without any bad dreams. And then one day, the night terrors stopped and Stiles never remembered what it was that scared him so much.

He stood in the shower and closed his eyes, letting the hot water flow down his head and down his body. He was immensely relieved to feel clean, even though he knew that he wouldn’t be able to wipe off Derek’s scent. He ran his hand over his neck and knew that the claiming bite mark was still there, even though it had healed days ago.

There was no way that he was able to deal with everything right now – the rape, being mated to Derek, the Hale fire, his family’s involvement in a pack’s destruction, the political fallout that would come out of this – too much to deal with.

And Melissa McCall was waiting for him in his room. She was not the kind of woman to keep waiting; so Stiles did the gentlemanly thing and finished his crying.

Stiles turned his face into the water spray, tears washing away, and he finally shut the taps off and stepped out of the glass shower stall. He grabbed a clean towel and wiped himself down. He wrapped the towel around his waist and walked to the sink, looking at himself in the mirror. Werewolf healing was an incredible gift; there was no mark on him, save the bite mark, nothing  to show the world what happened to him. Maybe there was some grace in that. He didn’t want to have to look at himself and see any reminders; it wasn’t like he was ever going to forget.

He pulled on his favorite threadbare brown tee-shirt with the white lettering “I Support Single Mothers” faded from too many washings. He stepped into a pair of plaid pajama pants and padded out of the bathroom into the bedroom suite.

Melissa stood in the room, her thick curly brown hair down and framing her pretty face. She tilted her chin and smiled, her sharp brown eyes looking him over. He knew she was looking at the mark on his neck and he nervously smoothed his hand over it, turning so that it was out of her field of vision.

“You feel shame,” she murmured, frowning slightly.

Stiles sighed and nodded, looking away. “Yeah.”

She walked towards him and wrapped her arms around him, holding him close. He ducked his head and pressed his forehead against her thin shoulder, sinking against her protective warmth. He didn’t remember his mother’s scent, but he found the earthy scents that identified Melissa McCall as family comforting and maternal.

“Does everyone know?”

“You have nothing to be ashamed of, Stiles,” she said, meeting his eyes. “The Royal Court and the werewolf packs support you.”

“Derek’s going to take the throne, he told…he told dad and dad accepted the claim. Deaton witnessed it, so it’s official. There won’t be any challenges.”

“There will be a Coronation ceremony for him,” she said, shrewdly. “He must stand in front of all the packs to take his throne.”

Stiles nodded, making a face. “Maybe I should just rip his guts out and take back my throne.”

“I heard that you have already given him a taste of Deaton’s knife.”

He shrugged; he wasn’t sure that it was worth it. Derek was probably fully healed, somewhere in one of the many rooms of the Palace. As long as he wasn’t in Stiles’s private suite, he really didn’t give a damn where Derek slept.

“It’s a stupid rule to prevent the Royal Omega Heir from ruling the kingdom himself,” she said, sneering. “You should leave this behind and come with me to the Amazonian pack. You will always have a place there.”

“Because of my mother.”

She grinned. “She was the best of us. Her bloodline lives in you and your future children. The Amazonian pack will always stand with you, Stiles.” She wrapped her hands around his neck, her fingers brushing against his mark. “You don’t know how many of us live amongst the other packs. We hold positions that would shock you; and we will always be your shadow allies.”

He knew that Melissa was trained to be a healer and that she worked as a nurse at the local hospital. But he wondered what made her stay. He also knew that she was one of his father’s personal advisors. While she didn’t have any power in the Quorum, she was still feared and respected by the Court for her connection to the ultra-secretive Amazonian pack. He always wondered just how far the sisterhood’s influence reached throughout the packs, and now he knew.

“You guys are really freaking scary, you know that?” Stiles said, chuckling softly. “But yeah, thank you, there may come a day when I’m going to need everyone to back me up.”

Melissa curled her hands over his shoulders and then ran her hands down his arms to hold both of his hands. “I have a gift for you.”

“I’m not really in the mood for post-Choosing presents.”

“I think this one will be acceptable,” she said, her hands curling around the handle of a long broadsword, encased in a well-worn brown leather scabbard. He watched as she hefted the sword, pulling it from the scabbard in one long, graceful movement, holding the steel blade into the air.

“This belonged to your mother. She asked me to give this to you on your 21st birth year,” she said, nodding for Stiles to come closer. “This blade was handed down from every Amazonian Princess, the strongest and best of us. And now, it’s yours.”

She placed it back inside the scabbard and handed the sword to Stiles.

“Wow, Melissa, this is amazing. Thank you,” he said, hefting the weight of the sword. He pulled it from the scabbard and held up the sword, looking at the etchings along and the steel. He turned it in the light, reading the names of all the Amazonian pack leaders, until he found his mother’s name along the neck of the blade. _Myrine, 98 th Princess of the Amazon Pack_. “If it gets handed down to every Amazonian Princess, why did she give it to me? Doesn’t the pack want it back?”

No one outside the sisterhood knew the identity of the current Amazonian pack Princess. Her name and life were fiercely guarded. Sometimes, Stiles wondered if Melissa held the position, but Scott would’ve known and Scott really couldn’t hide a thing from Stiles.

“The sisterhood agreed, when you were born as Omega, that the sword belonged to you,” she said, motioning for Stiles to sit down in one of the plush arm chairs in the small sitting area of his bedroom suite. “It was your mother’s last wish before she passed.”

Stiles sat down and leaned the sword against the side of his chair, keeping his hand on the handle. His mother had held this sword; her hand was once curled around the grip. Maybe if he concentrated, he’d be able to pick up her scent, and his heart broke just a little that she wasn’t with him now.

“So, you have mated,” Melissa said, kindly. “And not by your Choosing.”

He nodded, wiping his eyes. “Was it ever by my own Choosing, anyway?”

“That question was the reason why the sisterhood broke away from convention,” she said, leaning forward to pour them both a cup of tea. She handed one to Stiles and picked hers up, sitting back on the chair. “We rebelled against the Patriarchal society that we were born in; we lived with honor and we fought to keep what we hold dear. The packs fear us because they know we don’t need them; that we choose to stay because it is by choice.” She sipped her Jasmine tea and gave Stiles a thoughtful look. “When Myrine left the sisterhood to marry and mate with your father, we knew she wouldn’t return to the pack. She loved him with her whole heart – but he earned it, every single day that he wooed her. It took him nearly seven years, but he was faithful and controlled and honorable.”

“But what happened to the Hale pack…my dad…my grandfather…they didn’t act with honor,” he said, softly.

Melissa nodded once, her face expressionless.

“Did you know? Did my mom know?” He was afraid of the answer, but he needed to know.

“If she did, she kept that secret,” she said, looking at Stiles. She reached out and took his hand in hers. “I knew Talia Hale, the Alpha of the Hale pack.”

Stiles stared at her, his mouth opening. “Ohmygod…was she one of you?”

“No, her ties to her family and her pack were too deep, but we would’ve welcomed her into the sisterhood,” Melissa said, shaking her head sadly. “I admired her; she was known as a wise woman and fair leader of the Hale pack. We felt her death deeply in the sisterhood.”

“Derek said that he and two others survived and that they were exiled. Do you know what happened to them? Where did they live? Who would offer them a home when everyone knew that they were exiled and…ohmygod…the Amazonian pack gave them protection, didn’t they?”

Melissa narrowed her eyes as she met Stiles’s eyes. “Should they have been left to die? What punishment did they deserve?”

Stiles shook his head. “No, no, I don’t mean—I just—“ He trailed off, his hand shaking as he looked at her. “Did you know what Derek would do to me?”

_Did you plan for this to happen? To give Derek Hale a foothold back into the Beacon Hills territory? Back to the throne through Stiles – to let him rape Stiles?_

“Do you think I would condone such an act against you? You’re the only son of my best friend – my sister and my Princess – do you think the sisterhood would allow anyone to harm you like that? I would kill Derek Hale for what he did to you but…” she stopped abruptly, turning away to catch her breath.

“Fuck. My rape really was nothing more than politics and revenge,” Stiles said, setting his tea cup aside and covering his face with his hands.

“Kill him, if you can bear it,” Melissa said, bluntly. Stiles dropped his hands to stare at her in surprise. “Or use him to gain the power you need to free yourself. You’re Omega born, but you aren’t weak; you may be the son of an Alpha King, but Myrine’s blood flows in your veins. She was a warrior first and foremost, tested by the sisterhood to ensure that her strength and power would live on. You can shake off the Alpha voice, but you don’t even know the full potential of your power. Now that you are of legal age, the sisterhood can train you, the same way that we secretly train our daughters to be fierce and fearless.”

“Why didn’t you train Scott?”

Melissa laughed, throaty and pleased. “Scott’s destiny is with you, Stiles. When I learned that I had a son, I didn’t want to kill him because I knew that Myrine’s children would need a trusted friend.”

She stood up and picked up the sword, motioning for him to stand. Stiles got up to his feet, watching her carefully. He did want to be trained; he did want to know about his power. He was excited and scared, but he knew that he would do whatever was necessary to prove himself worthy of his mother’s sword and her place – _his_ place in the Amazonian pack.

“What do I have to do?”

Melissa gave him a wide, proud smile. She slid the sword from the scabbard and held it out to him, blade parallel to the floor. “Accept the sword, Stiles, and bind yourself to the sisterhood. Take back your throne. Free yourself from pain and fear.” She stepped closer to him and lowered her voice. “And when you are ready, the sisterhood will initiate you into the pack.”  

Stiles accepted the sword reverently with both hands, chills running down his body. “There’s going to be a new world order.”

“Your training begins after the Coronation of your mate,” she said, watching as he slid the sword into the scabbard. “I will call my sisters and bring those who will be the best teachers for you.”

***

Stiles was sitting on the window alcove, looking out over the courtyard, the Royal Guards pacing methodically. He thought it was ironic that they would protect the Palace from intruders when there was a predator already within its stone walls. He closed his eyes and pressed his forehead against the cool window glass, taking slow and deep breaths. He was happy to be home; but he could sense that his werewolf was restless, shifting under his skin, wanting to come out.

_Wanting to find his mate._

The bond was new and weak, but if Stiles concentrated, he knew he would sense Derek. Stiles was in no mood to give a damn. If that asshole so much as showed his hairy face in his rooms—

The door to his bedroom opened and Stiles growled, his claws gouging the cushion under him.

“What the _fuck_ are you doing here, Derek?”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Minor violence; triggery language in terms of Stiles's rape; triggery language in victim-blaming. BE WARNED.

Derek inhaled deeply, standing with his hand on the opened door. “I’m not going to stay; I only came to tell you that my Coronation is in three days and I’ve called my pack to Beacon Hills. Tomorrow morning, I’m going to formally claim you in front of the Royal Court.”

 

“Wow, just going full steam ahead for the throne, aren’t we?” He said, seeing that Derek was still wearing the same clothes, his shirt and jeans covered in dried blood from where Stiles had gutted him earlier. His werewolf curled miserably inside seeing the remnants of Derek’s wounds. Stiles shut down any sympathy he felt for the Alpha, not allowing the bond between them to weaken his resolve.

 

“No reason to put off the inevitable,” Derek said, the corner of his lip curling upwards. “It’ll be better to have the official claim over with sooner than later.”

 

“And you expect me to be there. Stand at your side submissively while you steal the Crown from my father?”

 

“Yes,” he said, hazel eyes moving over Stiles in an unnerving manner. “I expect you to do your duty to me.”

 

Stiles growled and crossed the room to stand in front of Derek. “Don’t tell me about duty, Derek. The only reason why you’re still alive right now is _because_ of my duty to the packs. I don’t know what you think you’re going to do, but just remember that I hold the power to your place here.”

 

Derek’s hard grip on the door made it splinter under his hand. “You don’t hold power over me. The throne has always belonged to me. I only took back what was mine.”

 

“And what about me? What about what the fuck you did to me, Derek? You need to answer for that! Maybe it won’t be to the Royal Court, but you sure as hell need to answer for it to me, god damn it!”

 

He was gratified to see Derek flush and look away. “You know that I only did that…it was never about wanting to hurt you like that.”

 

“You got off on it, though.”

 

Derek licked his lips, eyes burning red for just an instant. “I could say the same for you. The third time, you came so hard—“

 

“Fuck you, don’t you dare use that against me,” Stiles snarled, stepping closer to him. He wanted to kill Derek; to have that moment of weakness thrown back in his face. It was unbearable to even think about what happened in that loft; and Stiles still didn’t know how to deal with the shame of…everything. “You destroyed me and took my life. You took whatever chance I had at having a normal, happy life.” His hands curled into fists, he could feel his claws digging into the palms of his hands, the scent of blood in the air. “And you’re going to pay, Derek, I’m going to make you pay for what you did to me.”

  
Derek sniffed the air, looking down at the blood dripping down Stiles’s fingers.

 

“I’m not afraid of you,” he stated, feeling his lips twitch in distaste. “And if you ever touch me without my permission again, I’ll fucking cut your off dick.”

 

The Alpha growled, the edges of his mouth sneering. He flashed red eyes at Stiles and moved closer, making Stiles’s heart beat rapidly.

 

“Be careful, Little Omega, you forget who I am,” he murmured, narrowing his eyes as he glared at Stiles. “If you decide to do anything stupid tomorrow in front of the Royal Court, I’ll execute your father while he’s in his Alpha form and I’ll stuff his head and mount it behind my throne in the Main Hall for you and everyone to see—“

_  
“Fuck you.”_

 

“—so if you do _anything_ but stand there and let the Royal Court sniff you, then say good bye to your father tonight because you won’t have that chance tomorrow,” Derek said, opening the door wider and stepping back into the hallway. His eyes faded back to their human colors and he glanced at Stiles. “Do you understand, Stiles?”

 

Stiles gritted his teeth, his fangs itching to drop so that he could snarl and bite the Alpha. He swallowed the acid taste of bile in his mouth and dropped his eyes, hating the submission, and took a step back from Derek. “Yeah.”

 

“I want to hear you say it.”

 

“I understand.”

 

Derek sneered. “What do you understand?”

 

“That if I fuck up in front of the Royal Court, you’re going to kill my dad,” he growled, under his breath.

 

That seemed to appease Derek; he stared at Stiles for a long moment, holding the gaze, a little victorious tilt to his mouth as he closed the door between them.

 

“Fucking asshole,” Stiles hissed, hitting the door with the palm of his hand, a loud thud echoing through the room. He was sure that Derek heard it in the hall. He took several deep breaths, trying to calm down, and closed his eyes pressing his forehead against the door.

 

***

 

“Your Highness,” Scott called, kicking the side of the bed. “Prince Gemin.”

 

He blinked opened his sleep crusty eyes and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Dude, what the hell was that? Why’re you saying my name, idiot?”

 

“You need to get dressed. It’s time.” Scott took a few steps back, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

 

Stiles sat up and stretched, letting out a frustrated groan. He looked at his best friend, tense and aloof, not really looking at Stiles. “What’s wrong, Scott?”

 

“His Majesty _ordered_ me to wake you up and make sure that you were prepared for today,” Scott intoned, looking away.

 

He knew from Scott’s tone that it wasn’t his dad who had “ordered” Scott to get him. “Oh, you mean… _him_.”

 

Scott nodded, making a face. He scowled, looking away and Stiles sighed, running his hand over his head.

 

“I’m sorry, Stiles…”

 

“Dude, give me a hug, okay? I could really use one right now. It’s been…it’s been a long few days and I need a hug from my bro.”

 

Scott met his eyes, pained and sad. “I can’t, Stiles. You know I can’t touch a mated werewolf, not without permission.”

 

“I think I just gave you permission.”

 

“I know, it’s just that…”

 

“You need _his_ permission to touch me,” Stiles said, rolling his eyes. He threw his bed sheets and comforter off his legs and got out of bed, stalking across the room to the bathroom. He closed the door and stepped out of his sleep pants to get into the shower, too furious to even jerk off, letting the anger settle and his morning boner go down.

 

By the time he had finished showering and then brushing his teeth, Scott had laid out a dark blue suit, the matching vest, and a red dress shirt. Stiles pulled on his briefs and got dressed in the outfit that Scott selected for him, the silence thick between them.

 

“He said that he’d kill dad if I denied his claim in front of the Royal Court,” Stiles finally said, sitting in a nearby armchair to tug on his socks and loafers.

 

Scott growled softly, his eyes closed. He looked at Stiles with red Alpha eyes, dull and wet around the rims. “Stiles, I’m so sorry. I know it’s lame but I don’t know what else to say. I wish I knew how to help you.”

 

Stiles rubbed his face with his hands. “Just be here for me. I don’t freaking care what Derek says, you’re my brother. He’ll never be able to break our bond. I’ll kill him before I let him do that to us.”

 

“Don’t talk like that,” Scott admonished, kindly. “I know this is messed up but…he’s your mate and…I can’t wrap my head around it. I want to take you away from here, away from him, but I can scent his claim on you and…my werewolf is kind of going crazy, it’s like trying to deal with contradicting feelings.”

 

Stiles nodded, a part of him knowing that Scott was right. The last thing he wanted to do was allow Derek to command him in any way but…he was a werewolf, too, an Omega, and his werewolf had accepted the claim and the bond from the Alpha. As much as he hated Derek, as much as he wanted his revenge, his werewolf would never allow him to truly damage his…mate.

 

“Yeah, I know.”

 

He watched as Scott walked over to him and Stiles stood, his heart full of relief, sinking against his best friend’s familiar warmth, arms braced tightly around him. He sniffed against Scott’s neck, the scent of his oldest, dearest friend in his nose now, to keep him safe during the official claim. Scott held him, patting his back.

 

“I’ll do everything I can to make sure that…that you’re okay, Stiles,” he whispered, hands firm on his shoulders.

 

Stiles nodded, sniffling a little, meeting Scott’s eyes. “Good. Okay, that’s good, thanks, bro.”

 

“Come on, they’re all waiting for you in your father’s meeting room,” Scott said, softly. “Deaton is going to give you the rundown of what happens in front of the Royal Court, the things that you have to say as part of the claiming ceremony.”

 

“Does everyone know what happened to me?”

 

Scott made a face. “Yeah. You know how it is. Court gossip is pretty fast.”

 

“And they’re all going to just stand by and let it happen, aren’t they? No one is going to challenge Derek’s claim on me,” he said, snorting. “They’d go from being loyal to my dad to being loyal to Derek; try to get into his good graces first so that they’ll have more political power over each other. None of them give a damn about me.”

 

“Some of them do,” Scott said, squeezing his shoulders. “Some of them will always be loyal to the Stilinski pack. My mother told me that you have the Amazonians. Not all of the Royal Court think what Derek did to you was legal.”

 

“But they won’t stand up to him; not if they know what my family did.”

 

“It’s complicated,” his best friend said, softly. “There’s only Derek’s word and His Majesty…I mean, your dad…”

 

“It’s okay, Scott,” Stiles said, taking a deep breath. “I don’t know what to believe either. I can’t believe that my Grand dad would ever do something like this or that my dad would ever just stand by and let it happen. I can’t…my mom would never turn a blind eye if she knew…”

 

“Stiles, don’t beat yourself up over this. You haven’t done anything wrong,” Scott said, looking at him, a compassionate expression on his face. “This is not your fault. Whatever they may or may not have done, it’s not your fault.”

 

“But I’m the one punished for their mistakes.”

 

Scott sighed, pressing his shoulder against Stiles. “Yeah.”

 

“Come on, let’s just get this over with. “

 

***

 

It was always pomp and circumstance. He couldn’t believe that just a few days ago, he had celebrated his 21st birthday and stood in the same spot, in front of the Royal Court and all the Alpha Heirs, accepting suits for his hand in marriage.

 

He stood in his usual spot on the dais, just a step below the King’s throne, and watched as his father and Deaton entered the Main Hall, walking down the center aisle towards Stiles. But instead of taking the Alpha King’s seat, his dad stood on the floor, at the left of the dais. His father would never sit on his throne again. His dad looked up at him, looking so much older than his years. His face was etched with exhaustion, blue eyes dulled with regret. Stiles heaved out a silent sigh, turning away from his father’s gaze.

 

Instead, he looked out at the representatives of the fifty werewolf packs, their pack Alphas and Ministers and leaders standing in front of him. Some wore a grim expression on their faces; some were confused by the sudden exchange of power; and some leered with narrowed, focused eyes, watching with delirious political pleasure as Derek stepped up to the dais of the Alpha King’s throne.

 

Derek glared out at the Royal Court, unimpressed with everything around him. A part of Stiles wanted to demand what made him so much better than the others; what right did he have to be so angry when this was what he wanted. He placed his hand on Stiles’s shoulder and it took every bit of control Stiles had to not flinch away from Derek’s touch. He could feel his werewolf rolling over, instinct making him want to submit. He swallowed the taste of bile and stood stiffly, waiting for this to be over.

 

“I, Derek Hale, claim Gemin Stilinski as my mate; through him, I claim the throne of the Alpha King and all fifty werewolf packs.”

 

The Royal Court waited in breathless silence, looking at Stiles, some gleefully waiting to see if he’d refuse.

 

“I accept the claim,” Stiles said, taking a deep breath. “I will stand at your side to rule with you over your domain.”

 

Derek took his hand away and looked at the Royal Court. Stiles watched as they moved down to one knee, all of them, showing fealty and acceptance. Derek growled, a warning in the tone, and Stiles turned to see his dad and Deaton slowly move down to bended knee.

 

Stiles turned and looked over his shoulder to see the new Alpha King sit down on his throne. He glowered as he stared out at his Royal Court, hands gripping the ornate arm rests of the chair. Stiles took a deep breath and stared out at the Royal Court, fighting back his derision – cowards and followers, all of them; let them be the sheep, let them bleat and fight for political positioning and favoritism from the new King. Stiles would never be like them; he would never bow to Derek. They’d have to break his legs if they wanted to see him submit.

 

***

 

Stiles took two of his Royal Guards and went for a long, hard ride on his gray and white Arabian, Roscoe, across the Stilinski lands – well, they’d be called the _Hale_ lands now, wouldn’t they – needing to get out of the palace and away from the sniggering looks from the Royal Court.

 

Mated and claimed; there was no going back now. In less than 24-hours, Derek’s pack would arrive in Beacon Hills for the Coronation. Scott had hung out with him in his rooms, relating every piece of Court gossip that he’d heard, using his network of servants and allies in and out of the palace to give Stiles an idea of what was going on in the kingdom and in the packs.

 

None of it was actually good news. They had _romanticized_ Stiles’s claiming; that he had been stolen away on the night of his Choosing and bonded to the mysterious Prince Derek Hale, who had returned to reclaim his rightful place in the pack after years of living in exile. Stiles couldn’t even express his disgust and locked himself in his room for hours, refusing to see or talk to anyone.

 

_“How can anyone believe this bullshit!” Stiles yelled, throwing the newspaper on the floor and pacing his room. “It’s utter bullshit! So being kidnapped and raped is romantic? That’s how everyone is spinning it?”_

_“Stiles—“_

_“I can’t fucking believe that people would believe this!”_

_“Then tell them the truth,” Scott said, looking at him. “Tell them the truth and I’ll back you up.”_

_Stiles closed his eyes and shook his head. “Who would believe me now? I stood in that room in front of them and accepted Derek’s claim and pretty much handed over my kingdom to him. If they knew I’d been forced…they would ask why I’d…why I didn’t say anything? Why I let him have the throne if…if it wasn’t okay.”_

 

When news that Derek’s pack Emissary was an Amazonian caught the Court’s attention, it had increased Derek’s worth and merit in the eyes of the packs and legitimized his place as the Alpha King. The story of the Hale family’s destruction was the talk of every pack and even in the human news; everyone itching for the story. Scott, now Stiles’s Royal Advisor, was soon inundated with requests for interviews and Scott actually had to hire a staff to keep up with the requests.

 

So Stiles took off on his horse, needing the solitude of the forests to give him some semblance of peace and normalcy. He reached the lake and tethered Roscoe’s reins to a tree, and sat on the rocky beach as he skipped stones across the waters.

 

 _The Royal Omega Prince Consort._ That was his new title and position now.

 

He had made a decision the night before; he wasn’t going to let anyone relegate him into some simpering role as the Alpha’s mate. He wasn’t going to let any of the Royal Court use him for their own greedy desires. Stiles may not be able to change the fact that he was forced to be someone’s mate, but he could _choose_ to be who and what he wanted to be. As Royal Omega and Prince Consort, he wasn’t powerless. Rulership of the packs was supposed to be shared and Stiles had as much say in the Royal Court as Derek. He wasn’t about to let Derek try to take that power from him.

 

Stiles rode back to the palace at a sedate pace, Roscoe tossing his head exuberantly as they approached the stables. He normally groomed Roscoe himself, but he saw Scott waiting for him, looking harried and furious, pacing the courtyard restlessly, his Alpha werewolf just under the surface of his human face.  

 

“Scott, what’s wrong?” He said, dismounting from Roscoe and handing his reins to a stable boy. He patted Roscoe’s flank affectionately and took off his riding gloves, looking at his best friend.

 

“The Argents – His Majesty’s taken them to the dungeons and sent out a dozen of the Royal Guards to bring the rest of the Argents to Beacon Hills. Your father is in his rooms, guarded, his freedoms limited.”

 

“What?”

 

“Allison, she was taken, too. Stiles—“

 

“I’ll take care of it,” he said, stalking into the palace. “Where is _His Majesty_ now?”

 

“In your father’s study.”

 

Stiles walked quickly through the palace, ignoring the looks from the members of the Royal Court, wearing nothing but his worn tee-shirt, riding pants, and dirty boots. He slapped his leather gloves against his hip, furious that Derek would move against his father – and he’d deal with the Argents in time – while Stiles was out of the way.

 

He opened the door to the study and stalked inside, glaring at Derek and the  five Ministers standing around the desk, papers all over the surface. Stiles recognized a few of the Ministers, dressed in their formal black robes over their suits, while Derek wore jeans and a long sleeved burgundy Henley that had a rip at the collar. Did he not own any clothes? Stiles shook the thoughts from his head as he raised his chin, his nostrils flaring.

 

Derek turned to look at him. “Stiles, what is it?”

 

“I need to speak to you alone,” he said, sharply.

 

Scott stopped behind him, breathing heavily.

 

One of the Ministers gave a low, knowing laugh. “It’s seems that your mate is in dire need of you, Sire.”

 

“Fitting, as it is your honeymoon season.”

 

Stiles felt his face heat up and he ignored the jeering chuckles of the Ministers. Derek looked at him, his eyes calm, ignoring the others.

 

“Prince Stiles, perhaps we should—“ Scott said, diplomatically.

 

“How lucky for you, Sire, to have mated with such a passionate Omega,” the Minister said, looking Stiles up and down slowly. “I applaud your romantic claim; quite old fashioned if you ask me.”

 

Stiles narrowed his eyes, looking at the Minister. “You would think that, wouldn’t you? I’m pretty sure that that’s the only way _you_ could ever claim a mate since no one in their right mind would choose you willingly.”

 

The Minister laughed, incredulously. “Sire, you’d allow your Omega to speak to a Royal Minister in that manner?”

 

Derek’s face was expressionless as he looked at the Minister and then turned to look at Stiles.

 

“But who would blame your indulgence, it’s not like anyone can withstand the allure of an Omega in heat.”

  
Stiles glared at him, but before he could say anything, Derek roared, his claws slashing across the face of the werewolf who had insulted Stiles.

 

“Don’t you ever talk to him or about him like that again,” Derek said, his claws retracting into his fingertips.

 

The werewolf whimpered, clutching at the four deep wounds on his face, the scent of his blood and fear filling the room. The other Ministers stepped back and away, leaving the one on the floor to his own defense. Stiles gritted his teeth, even more furious. He didn’t need Derek to stand up for him.

 

He stared up at Derek, whining brokenly. “Sire—“

 

Derek bent over and wiped his bloody fingers across the front of the werewolf’s shirt, smirking when the Minister flinched and fell back on the floor. “He is the Prince Consort.” He sneered at the Minister. “Make amends now.”

 

The Minister moved to his knees and looked up at Stiles. “Your Highness, please forgive me for offending you.”

 

Stiles didn’t say anything.

 

“It looks as if the Prince Consort will not accept your apology.”

 

“Your Highness, I beg you!”

 

He hated this; hated the naked desperation from the wounded werewolf; hated the way that the other Ministers watched in pure enjoyment. Stiles nodded quickly and looked away.

 

Derek kept his gaze on Stiles, gauging his reaction. He turned to the Minister. “I should put you to death to set an example for how offending my mate offends me.”

 

“Please, Your Majesty, I beg you—“

 

“Shut up. Get out. In fact, I recommend you leave my territory by nightfall,” Derek said, turning his back on the Minister and walking towards Stiles. “All of you, get out of my sight. The Prince Consort has my attention.”

 

Stiles watched as they slunk out of the room, their proverbial tails tucked between their legs. The Minister clutched his hand against his bloody face; he would heal but it would take time as werewolves healed slower when the wounds were caused by an Alpha.

 

“Was there something you wanted?”

 

“You _locked up_ my father. How dare you? What the hell were you thinking, Derek?”

 

Derek raised his chin. “For his own protection. I wouldn’t want him and Deaton to do anything foolish like try to steal my throne while my back was turned.”

 

“And what about the Argents?”

 

“They have to pay for their part in my family’s death.”

 

 _“Stiles,”_ Scott whined, lowly.

 

“Maybe they do, but Princess Allison is innocent. Scott says that she was put in the dungeons, too.”

 

Derek glared at Scott over Stiles’s shoulder and then looked at Stiles. “She is an Argent; she’ll be trained to be their Matriarch, if she hasn’t been already, a huntress like all the other females in her family.”

 

“She’s not a threat to you, Derek.”

 

“How would you know?”

 

“Because she’d never do anything like that!”

 

“You seem so sure,” he said, raising his eyebrow. “Do you think that she might harbor some anger against you and your family, for exiling hers from this territory? She was invited to your Choosing—“

 

“I invited her and her family myself,” Stiles said, frowning. “She’s always been a friend.”

 

“And a friend would never betray your trust?”

 

“I’m not going to live a life where I can’t trust my friends,” he said, taking a deep breath. “I trust her.”

 

“I hope you never have to test that trust with an Argent.”

 

He wasn’t sure what was going on with Derek; his anger at Stiles’s father was there, simmering under his skin, but the obvious hatred for the Argent pack seemed to go even deeper.

 

Derek stared at Stiles, arms crossed in front of his chest. “And what would you do for me if I freed her?”

 

“What?”

 

“I’ll free her, but it won’t be out of the kindness of my heart. I think you should return the favor, you’ll owe me,” he said, leaning against the edge of the desk. “I’ve heard that Scott has a thing for her. Maybe she was sent in to test your friendship and when you’re back is turned, she’ll be there to cut off your head.“

 

“Don’t you dare speak of her like that,” Scott hissed, forgetting for a moment that he was speaking to the Alpha King.

 

“Are you fucking kidding? I’ll owe you one? After everything that you’ve done to me!” Stiles said, incredulously.

 

“I don’t care one way or the other. She could rot and die in the dungeons or you could ask me to release her knowing that you have to repay the favor when I want it,” Derek said, bored, looking away. “I’m busy planning for my pack’s arrival and the Coronation so…”

 

“Stiles, _please_.”

 

Stiles looked at his best friend and nodded, turning to Derek. “I accept your terms. Free her now and I…I promise, on my honor as the Prince Consort, to grant whatever favor you ask of me.”

 

Derek stared at him and then nodded. “She can be returned to her guest chambers; but she must be escorted by Scott at all times when she’s on the palace grounds. Or I’ll believe that she’s a spy and will have her returned to the dungeons.”

 

Stiles looked at Scott, who nodded, biting his bottom lip in relief and gratitude.

 

“Fine.”

 

“Scott, you may go get your Princess. Take her back to her rooms. I don’t want to see her face or hear her name,” Derek told him.

 

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Scott mumbled, turning to leave the study.

 

Stiles followed him to the door, but Derek had moved to stand in the doorway, closing the door. “What?”

 

“We need to talk about your heat.”

 

 

TBC…


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi there! Thanks for all of your comments and kudos -- and for your patience, I know it's taken me a long time to get this new chapter up. 
> 
> No real warnings for this chapter (very off page implied werewolf/human interaction, ie, "she was bit" as a euphemism). 
> 
> For those inclined, you can follow me at my Tumblr: http://theserpentgirl.tumblr.com/

“My heat is none of your fucking business,” Stiles snarled at him, narrowing his eyes. “After everything that you’ve done, what the hell makes you think I’ll even let you get close enough to me to—“

 

“You may hate me, but your body won’t deny me.”

 

“Well, isn’t that awesome for you?” Stiles hissed, taking a step closer to the Alpha. “Isn’t it lucky that you’ll be there when my heat makes me vulnerable and even if I do say no, _again_ , it’s not going to make a difference to you because you just take what you want, don’t you? What makes you think that you even deserve that part of me? I’d rather die than allow you to touch me again.”

 

Derek stared at him for a long moment. “You won’t have a choice.”

 

“I do have a choice, Derek! I _have_ a fucking choice!”

 

“Your instinct will be to mate with me. It’s something we should prepare for,” Derek said, looking at him. “After the Coronation, when I’m officially seated on the throne, we will have to fulfill our duty and consummate the—“

 

“No!”

 

Stiles burned with anger; he could feel his face reddening under Derek’s scrutiny. He could scent the Alpha, feel the _want_ vibrating from the other werewolf – his mate. Stiles remembered what it was like to go through his heat and there was no way, _no fucking way_ , he would let Derek see him like that. His heart was beating inside his chest so loud and so fast, he saw Derek frown, taking a step towards him.

 

“Stiles, calm down.”

 

He hissed, feeling his body burn.

 

“Stiles!” Derek shouted, his hands curling around Stiles’s arms. “You have to—“

 

“No!” Stiles screamed, jerking his arms from Derek’s hands. He felt the immense heat blossom within him and there was a force, an energy that built and built under his skin, like he was being inflated with intense fire, all of it needing to come out. He saw his hands glow a deep red, like when you held your hand in front of a light bulb and could see the blood outline underneath the thinness of skin.

 

“Stiles, what are you doing?” Derek said, backing away slowly, watchful and cautious.

 

The energy churned and built in his fingertips, like the pain he felt when his claws came out for the first time, throbbing and hot – but it didn’t _burn_ him. He stared at Derek and felt the burst of energy through his fingertips, his hands on fire.

 

“Ohmygod! What—what the fuck!” Stiles yelled, holding his hands out, flames licking the palms of his hands. “Ohmygod! I’m on fire! Derek, help me!”

 

He was going to spontaneously combust! He watched as the flames licked against his wrists and moved up his forearms. He shook his hands, trying to put them out, thinking that he was going to have to drop to the carpet but—but he wasn’t _on_ fire, he wasn’t hurting or burning. He caught his breath and stared, forcing himself to be calm, turning his hands back and forth in front of him, the white-hot flames simmering on his flesh.

 

Derek backed away, his shoulders pressed against the wall, fear etched on his face as he stared at Stiles.

 

Stiles curled his hands into a fist, the fire circling and remaining strong, but no longer moving up his arms. _Control_ , he needed to take control of this. He took a deep breath, closing his eyes. He willed the flames to go out, _what the fuck, I have to pull it back in, pull the energy back in_ , chanting in his mind as he tried to control his anger and fear and curiosity. He could feel the energy curling back into his hands, moving up his arms, cooling as he calmed.

 

When he opened his eyes, the fire was gone. He blinked, holding his hands up in front of his face, touching his fingers and finding them a little warm, but otherwise undamaged, as if it had never happened.

 

“Did you see that?” Stiles said, excitedly, looking at Derek. He threw up his hands into the air and wiggled his fingers. “Did you _fucking_ see that? Did that actually happen? I’m freaking Pyro but I don’t need a flamethrower! Ohmygod, Derek, I—“

 

Derek was braced against the wall, panting noisily, eyes red, and claws digging into the wallpaper.

 

“What…oh.”

 

The Alpha wasn’t just scared, he was _terrified_ and he reeked of it. Stiles dropped his hands and just stared at Derek, not knowing what to do. No, he knew what he would do with _anyone_ else – offer comfort, make a joke, distract them from being scared. Stiles could admit that he was _absolutely_ freaked out, but his mind was already compartmentalizing and processing his new ability, his intellectual curiosity coming to the fore to question, to find answers. He needed to talk to Deaton and his father. But Derek, he was beyond freaked out, and Stiles remembered that his family was burned alive. Stiles was torn; he was giddy with his new fire ability, and a very small part of him was sympathetic to Derek’s fear of fire, but Stiles was also pleased that he had _something_ that scared the crap out of the Alpha, that would maybe keep Derek far away from him now.

 

“Yeah, uh, I can see that you’re not a fan of my, uh, new ability so I’m just, um…”   

 

Derek growled, low and deep and pained, the kind of sound a trapped predator made before he attacked. Stiles ran his sweaty palms against his legs, meeting Derek’s red Alpha eyes for just a moment, both of them too shocked by Derek’s reaction to say anything.

 

Stiles ran out of the study and down the hallways to his rooms, his hands fisted to stop the trembling.

 

***

 

He could still feel the electric intensity under his skin, making him itch and restless. He needed to know about his new power; needed to talk to someone who would tell him something – anything – about what he was. He was Omega, one of the rarest of werewolves, but there was nothing in werewolf history about having this kind of power. Was it because of his mother? Was she somehow more special than anyone knew? Melissa would know, but would she tell him? Or was this from his father’s bloodline, from being the First Lycaon line? He had so many questions and he didn’t even know where to start. Stiles paced the floor of his room and he walked to the house phone, picking up the handle. He pressed the number 4 on the pad and waited for the palace servant to pick up.

 

“Your Highness, how may I assist you?”

 

“I need to speak to Deaton. Can you track him down for me?”

 

“He is currently visiting your father in your father’s residence. Shall I have the Emissary sent to you?”

 

Stiles nodded to himself, taking a deep breath. Good, he needed to see his father, to check on him about his house arrest. “No, I’ll go see them. Thank you.”

 

He hung up the phone and walked out of his rooms, heading for the north hall to his father’s private residence.

 

***

 

The Royal Guards outside of his father’s residence knocked politely and opened the door for Stiles. He walked inside to see his father and Deaton standing at his wide oak desk, looking at papers spread out on the surface. Deaton carefully shuffled the papers discreetly as his father walked towards him, pulling him into a tight hug.

 

“Son, how are you doing?”

 

Stiles sank into his father’s embrace and took a deep breath. “I’m all right. Considering. Derek won’t let you out of house arrest. He said it was for your protection, in case you turn traitor to the throne. He sent the Argents to the dungeons.” He peered over his father’s shoulder to see what Deaton was trying to hide. “What’s going on? You’re not planning anything stupid, are you?”

 

“Don’t worry about me. I can handle whatever Derek throws my way,” John said, looking at Stiles. “I’m more worried about you.”

 

“You’ve come into your spark,” Deaton said, walking towards them. “I can see that there’s a change in you.”

 

Stiles fought the need to roll his eyes; he felt like that his father’s Emissary was mostly hocus pocus, sleight of hand trickery and observational deduction.

 

“Spark? Is that what’s happening to me?”

 

“What happened?” John said, running his hands over Stiles’s shoulders.

 

Stiles stepped back, holding his hands up to signal for his father and Deaton to stand back. “I don’t know if I have enough control to make it happen again – I was really pissed off when it happened – but, okay, here goes…”

 

He concentrated on the feeling of heat, looking at his hands, willing them to get hotter and hotter, imagining the white-blue flames lick against his palms.

 

Nothing.

 

Stiles let out a frustrated breath. “So much for being an X-Men.”

 

Deaton took a step, looking at him carefully. “Close your eyes, Your Highness.” Stiles did so. “What was the emotion you felt when it happened?”

 

“I was angry, so angry.”

 

“White hot anger,” Deaton murmured, softly. “Look deep inside, Your Highness.”

 

_Search your feelings, Luke._

 

“It’s starting to feel like a sauna in here,” John told them.

 

Stiles could feel it now; feel the source it in inside of his mind, hidden away like an unpolished gem in the darkness. This time, he was prepared for it and he wasn’t afraid. He felt the fire ignite from inside and he opened his eyes, holding up his hands as he held the flames.

 

John ran a hand over his mouth, looking at Deaton. “He has the spark?”

 

Deaton wore a small, proud smile on his lips. He nodded to John. “Your son is going to be a very powerful being.”

 

“With great power comes great responsibility,” Stiles intoned, closing his fists and extinguishing the flames. He cracked a smile, shrugging and rubbing his warm palms on his pants.

 

“It didn’t hurt?” John said, walking to take Stiles’s hand, turning it over and over, examining it. “You’re not burned?”

 

“No, just freaked me out because it came from nowhere,” he told him, seeing how freaked out his father was. Deaton, on the other hand, was his usual calm, only his brown eyes showing his pleasure. “You know, since _no one_ thought to warn me or anything. So I think it’s time to finally fill me in on everything that’s going on. And dad, I need to know everything, the good, the bad, and the ugly. I need to know what I have to deal with here. You can’t – no more lies, no more hiding. I’m not a kid, and maybe I didn’t pay enough attention to my royal studies, but that’s going to change. I’m mated to that asshole now and I won’t let him hold this over my head anymore.”

 

He watched as his father and Deaton exchanged glances, and Stiles gave him a meaningful looking, trying to convey that he wasn’t going to be messed with anymore. John sighed deeply and motioned Stiles to join him at the leather sectional in the middle of the room.

 

“Your grandfather was a powerful Alpha,” John said, tapping his hand on his knee. “The most powerful Alpha I’ve ever encountered; he had a will and a vision for our bloodline that would’ve scared our ancestors shitless.”

 

Stiles frowned. “But Grandpa Jaroslav was…I don’t remember him being anything but awesome and funny.”

 

“And he was awesome and funny, but when it came to protecting our legacy, he was ruthless and manipulative and cunning.”

 

“An apex predator,” Deaton murmured, setting into the armchair next to the sectional. “Perhaps the most formidable Alpha I have ever served as Emissary. My family has served the Stilinski Pack for generations – no Alpha compared to Jaroslav Stilinski.”

 

“So he did all those things to the Hales.” Stiles had started to believe Derek; the last bit of hope that Derek was wrong extinguished and now he had to face the truth of his family. “We did that to Derek’s family, to his pack.”

 

“You want to know what my role was, as the Alpha Heir,” John said, meeting Stiles’s eyes. “I stood at his side and did nothing.”

 

“What? Dad!”

 

“He was my Alpha and my father,” John said, looking away. “I couldn’t defy him, Stiles. That isn’t our way.”

 

Stiles bit his tongue; it was true, he couldn’t defy his own father, how could Stiles expect his father to defy Jaroslav?

 

Deaton leaned forward. “And I advised your father to keep his counsel; until he was Alpha King and he could work on righting the wrongs committed by Jaroslav and Gerard Argent.”

 

“But when you became Alpha King, why didn’t you…” He trailed off; who was he to criticize his father?

 

“I _always_ had the intention of restoring the Hale pack to their rightful place in the kingdom, please believe me,” John said, letting out a deep breath. “And I’m ashamed to admit that I was always too distracted by my duties to the packs, by pack politics – goddamn it, Stiles, we all forgot about the Hales. I forgot about Derek and his family.”

 

“In hindsight, we have learned our lessons,” Deaton said, softly.

 

“You think?” Stiles snarled at them, running his hands into his hair. “Dad, if you had made things right with the Hale pack when you took the throne, none of this would’ve happened!”

 

“Thank you for that, Stiles! When you sit on the throne, you tell me how easy it is to push your own agenda with fifty werewolf packs and the human government pushing theirs on you. Don’t you think I know that?”

 

Stiles closed his hands into fists, getting off the leather couch to pace the floor. “Christ, dad, if Derek hadn’t felt like he had nothing to lose, he wouldn’t have kidnapped me and raped me to take your throne.”

 

“I’m sorry, Stiles, I’m more sorry than you’ll ever know,” John said, getting to his feet and putting his hands on Stiles’s shoulder. “I know that doesn’t erase what happened to you; nothing I say or do will ever take that away. And I will go to my grave knowing that I’m responsible for it. I can only hope that you’ll forgive me one day and that you won’t judge me too harshly.”

 

He barked out a mirthless laugh. “Yeah, it’s hard to be king.”

 

“Your Highness,” Deaton reprimanded, frowning deeply.

 

Stiles stared at the floor. He’d need time to process; he wasn’t sure who to direct his anger at anymore: His Grandpa Jaroslav for being a power hungry predator; his father for his lack of action; Derek for his ruthlessness in taking what he wanted. These three werewolves all played a role in Stiles’s past, present, and future.

 

He was so fucking done feeling powerless and used.

 

“I love you, dad, I always will, but I’m too angry at you to think straight right now, so don’t ask me to forgive you,” Stiles said, raising his head to meet John’s wet eyes. “I get that you were just…well, I don’t know what you were trying to do, but I’m not going to be a pawn anymore in this game you’re all playing.”

 

John nodded, taking a deep breath and rubbing his hand over his face. “I’ll always be here if you need me, son.”

 

Stiles looked at Deaton. “I want to know about my powers. You said I had a spark, like you were expecting something to happen, for my powers to manifest. I want to know everything.”

 

“I have several books on the matter,” he said, bowing his head in compliance. “However, your Amazonian heritage holds the key to your powers and your mother’s people were never forthcoming with their vast knowledge.”

 

“Then I need to talk to Melissa McCall.”

 

Deaton gave him a small grin. “No doubt she will make you earn every grain of that knowledge.”

 

Stiles thought that Deaton was a hypocrite when he was just as tough on Stiles, but he didn’t want to argue that fact at the moment. He needed to get away from his father; he needed more answers and the one person who hadn’t lied to him was Melissa McCall.

 

He gave his father one last glance before he left his father’s residence. He didn’t look like the Alpha King anymore; he looked sad and exhausted and just as lost as Stiles felt.

 

***

 

The beautiful young woman who dropped Stiles to the carpet with a combination move of strong legs and slender arms, that he never saw coming, smiled down at him, all white teeth and a glint of amusement and victory in her blue eyes.

 

“Well, um, it’s nice to meet you, too?”

 

“Erica, do not harm His Highness,” Melissa called, laughter in her voice.

 

The young woman with long, curly hair stood and held out her hand for Stiles. He hesitantly reached up to take her hand, surprised at her lithe strength and agility as she pulled him back on his feet.

 

“You need to work on your reflexes,” Erica said, shaking his hand. “But you’re not worthless for a boy. I see promise in you. It shouldn’t take too long to build up your fighting skills to an acceptable Amazonian level.”

 

“Gee, thanks.”

 

“You look like your mother,” the other Amazonian said as she walked towards him. She was older, but as lovely as Erica. She had long dark hair and dark eyes and a warmth to her skin that spoke of long hours in the sun. “I am Kali.”

 

“Stiles,” he said, holding out his hand, smiling at her strong grip. “Welcome to Beacon Hills. Both of you. I’m honored to meet the members of my mother’s pack.”

 

“Erica and Kali will serve as your teachers,” Melissa said, placing the bamboo tray on the coffee table. She poured them all tea and Stiles sat down beside Melissa, graciously accepting the ceramic mug. “Erica will work with you on offense and defense strategies and Kali will work with you on the ways of the sisterhood.”

 

Stiles laughed and looked at Erica and then at Melissa. “Okay, that all sounds great, but she’s a teenager! What are you, sixteen?”

 

“I’m nineteen and I’ve already two kills to my name,” Erica said, narrowing her eyes at him.

 

“She is one of our best warriors,” Melissa said, giving a small growl of disapproval at Stiles. “You would learn from our best; and she will kick your ass if you provoke her.”

 

Stiles swallowed, knowing that age didn’t matter in the Amazonian packs. It was ability and skill and knowledge. He bowed his head to Erica. “I apologize for insulting you, Erica.”

 

“Noted,” she said, returning the bow but keeping her blue eyes on him the whole time. “You don’t want to be my third kill, Your Highness, though the notoriety would be awesome.”

 

Stiles knew that she would never bend her head lower or drop her gaze in submission. Actually, he was thrilled by the idea of learning to fight from the Amazonians. He had been trained by the Royal Guards nearly all of his life. The guards had always talked of Amazonian fighting, respected and admired their abilities.

 

Kali reached over and took Stiles’s hand, her brown eyes widening slightly. “You have the spark.”

 

“Yeah, I just found out actually,” he admitted, shrugging. “My power manifested.”

 

“Which power?” Melissa said, leaning closer to him.

 

“Fire.”

 

All three Amazonians stared at him.

 

“Something wrong?”

 

“You have the power of the elements,” Kali murmured, letting go of his hand. “Earth, wind, fire, water.”

 

“Okay, but what does that mean? And why did this happen? And what do you mean that I have the power of the elements? Am I going to be able to control wind and earth and water, too?”

 

“Your powers may manifest as actual physical powers, such as fire, or symbolic, such as water and giving life,” Kali said, looking at him. “As Omega, you have the ability to have children with your mate.”

 

Stiles made a face. “Uh, not if I can help it.”

 

Kali opened her mouth to say something, but stopped. She merely smiled and bowed her head in understanding. “As one of the rarest of our kind, I do want to tell you that if you were to become pregnant, all of your true powers will manifest.”

 

“Not in this lifetime, lady.” _And definitely not with Derek Hale._

 

“We shall not discuss it if it makes you uneasy, Stiles,” Kali agreed, giving up on the topic.

 

Stiles made a face. “We _never_ have to talk about it, thanks.”

 

Melissa stood and walked across the room to the bookcase, taking an old leather bound book off the shelf. She grinned as she sat down, handing him the book.

 

“This is the _Bibliotheca_ ,” Stiles said, running his fingers over the cover. “Are you serious?”

 

“One of three original copies in existence,” she said, nodding. “Do you know the story of the first werewolf?”

 

Stiles grinned, opening the cover carefully, his fingers lingering over the thin parchment pages. “A young girl gets lost in the woods and meets a wolf – _Little Red Riding Hood_ is based on the original stories of the First Lycaon bloodline.”

 

Kali snorted as Erica rolled her eyes.

 

“Fairy tales created by humans and perpetuated by ignorant werewolves,” Kali dismissed, reaching over to the velvet ribbon bookmark and turning the pages.

 

“Many parts of the _Little Red_ tale are true,” Melissa said, sipping her tea. “The Amazonians have kept the whole story safeguarded in our pack. The werewolf packs believe that only one bloodline came from the First Lycaon, but in truth there are three.”

 

“Three bloodlines?” Stiles whispered, staring at her. “How was this kept secret all this time?”

 

Erica laughed. “We’re guardians of knowledge, Stiles, we keep our secrets. Duh.”

 

“Who are the other two packs?”

 

Kali cocked her head. “Think about it.”

 

Stiles made a face. Well, obviously the Stilinskis…and he thought of the fifty werewolf packs and wondered which of them were of royal blood. The Whittemores? The Martins? Mmm…he could definitely see Lydia Martin as a royal. She would probably love being a royal.

 

“Three sons were born to the woman. Three bloodlines created from the First Lycaon.”

 

“Wait, _she’s_ the First Lycaon; the woman,” he said, sitting back on the couch.

 

“We are all born to a mother.”

 

“The first Amazonian, right?” Stiles said, seeing Melissa smile and nod. “That’s why you guard this knowledge.”

 

“Like I said, you show promise,” Erica said, winking at him.

 

“It was so obvious – how are we so stupid not to see it?” He said, shaking his head.

 

“Because you were not taught the truth and no one would ever believe it; that a _woman_ would be the First Lycaon,” Kali told him, kindly. “Our first Queen, she was the daughter of a powerful witch and she created a spell to humanize the wolves that lived beyond her village. It was entirely for her amusement because she was lonely. She wanted to make companions of the beasts. On the day of the solstice full moon, she was in the woods picking herbs, when she encountered one of the wolves, an Alpha of the pack, who followed her and watched her, year after year. But she also watched this Alpha wolf and legend tells us that the wolf became her loyal companion. The wolf bit her and changed her and when she birthed her three sons, they were all born as werewolves – human and wolf, an equal balance.”

 

“And you, an Omega, the heir of all three bloodlines,” Melissa told him.

 

Stiles stared at her. “What? How is that possible?”

 

“Your father’s bloodline can be traced to one of the sons of the First Lycaon; your mother’s bloodline is from another son; and your mate, the Hales, can trace their bloodline to the third son.”

 

“Ugh! Gross, isn’t that incest?”

 

“We’re all inter-related, dumbass,” Erica said, rolling her eyes.

 

“In our sisterhood, when we join, we leave behind our families and our packs and our names to be one with the sisterhood,” Kali told him, leaning on the arm of the chair, watching him. “But that doesn’t mean that we forget our own bloodlines. Your mother, Queen Myrine, can trace her bloodline to France, to the Argents, to the First Lycaon.”

 

“All bloodlines converge in you, Stiles.”

 

“Well, _technically_ , your kid when you and Derek have a baby,” Erica said, nonplussed.

 

Stiles really wanted to punch her.

 

“The First and Last Lycaon,” Kali murmured, meeting his eyes.

 

“Are you kidding me? First and Last, Alpha and Omega,” he said, laughing hysterically. “I’m the fucking _Kwisatz Haderach_ , is that what you’re saying?” He let out another bout of laughter, tears in his eyes. “I’m going to change my name to _Muah’Dib_ and I’m going to lead a rebellion as the werewolf Messiah to the Golden Path! Right.”

 

Erica snorted. “Not that far off, dude.”

 

“Wait. Actually, Derek is House Atreides and the Argents are House Harkonnen…that makes us the Emperor’s family, House Corrino? Or are we the Fremen? So Derek had to marry me to get to the throne and actually _he’s_ the one that’s going to lead the werewolf rebellion and I’m going to be stuck in the loveless marriage,” he said, frowning. “Or maybe I’m Chani? So if we did have children – and hey, maybe they’ll be twins – one of them will grow up to be a giant immortal sandworm and rule the universe for 10,000 years.”

 

Melissa, Kali, and Erica stared at him.

 

“You guys have never read Frank Herbert’s _Dune_ series?”

 

“What the fuck are you talking about, Stiles?” Erica said, making a face at him.

 

“Never mind,” he groused, rolling his eyes. “No way. No fucking way. Ohmygod, you people are nuts. Are you really saying that the three original bloodlines are the Stilinskis, the Argents, and the Hales? Really? Kind of a coincidence, isn’t it? I mean, what the hell! Why don’t we know this? You know, a lot of these fucking problems could be solved if we all knew the truth and talked to each other. My Grandpa Jaroslav wouldn’t have conspired with Gerard Argent to burn the Hale family to death and Derek wouldn’t have—“

 

He bit his lip and crossed his arms in front of his chest, ducking his chin and closing his eyes. _Fucking werewolf Messiah. Fucking werewolf politics and family legacy and bloodline bullshit._

What the everlasting fuck!

 

“These are truths, long hidden, and they will be revealed in time. In order for you to know where you are going, you need to know from where you first came. Don’t let the burden of this knowledge overwhelm you, Stiles. There is a time for everything and this is not the time yet.” Melissa placed her hand on his shoulder, radiating calm. “The universe will always create balance in the world. For every action, there is an equal reaction. Balance. We don’t see things as only black and white; and you will find that it is in this center of gray where you will exist and flourish. You have been abused, but yet you will rise with your powers and knowledge. This is not to diminish your pain, but to help you find your path again.”

 

He didn’t know why or how, but her words soothed the ache in his core, just a little; maybe just enough to keep Stiles going forward with his life. His hands moved over the smooth pages of the _Bibliotheca_ on his lap and he blinked his eyes, swallowing the lump in his throat as he nodded.

 

“That means something to me,” he said, softly.

 

“Read through the book; ask us your questions,” Kali said, leaning back in her chair. “We will remain for as long as you need us.”

 

There was a soft knock on the door and they turned to see Derek enter the room. He gave a surprised smile to Kali and Erica, the expression leaving as quickly as it formed.

 

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” Derek said, nodding to the Amazonians. “I need Stiles’s presence in a meeting.”

 

“Of course, Your Majesty.” Melissa said, nodding her head to Derek. She turned and smiled at Stiles, stroking his head. “Come see us in the morning. Have a light breakfast since you’ll begin your training with Erica. Don’t embarrass the guards who trained you by throwing up in the middle of a workout.”

 

_Workout. Right._ More like Erica was going to kick his ass in front of everyone.

 

Erica winked at him and Stiles rolled his eyes. She was going to seriously kick his ass.

 

“Don’t lose the book,” Kali teased, smiling at him. “Bring it with you tomorrow.”

 

Stiles held on to the book, hiding the cover from Derek’s eyes, as he excused himself and followed Derek into the hallway.

 

“So what’s going on? Where are we going?”

 

“To my private quarters.”

 

Stiles stopped and glared at the back of Derek’s head. “I’m not going to your room with you, Derek.”

 

Derek paused and turned to look at him. “My family and my pack have arrived. I wanted you to meet them without the prying eyes of the Royal Court watching our every move.”

 

“I didn’t know…”

 

“My sister and my uncle also survived the fire,” he said, turning and walking back down the hallway to the other side of the palace. “As our House was exiled, we can’t increase our pack numbers because it’s too hard to hide as a big group when you’re always on the run.”

 

 


	9. TIME STAMP

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a "The Royal Omega" time stamp. A Derek POV.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to post this time stamp to my Tumblr page because I wanted to keep the story on AO3 strictly from Stiles's POV. I thought it might be interesting for anyone following this story to read a story told from Derek's POV. It's not to gain anyone's sympathy because Derek still raped Stiles in this fic, and it may actually raise more questions than anything else, but I thought Derek's POV was an interesting addition to this fic. 
> 
> Also: You guys are great! Thank you for all the kudos, comments, and bookmarks for this story.

[To read the time stamp, click here. ](http://theserpentgirl.tumblr.com/post/73028286561/the-royal-omega-time-stamp)

 


	10. Signal Boost - Stop an Asshole from Reposting My Fics Without Permission!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> EDIT: Jan 26, 2014 - I've received comments from people who went back to check and saw that all of the reposted fics are now deleted from the ffnet user's page. 
> 
> Thank you, everyone, for all of the support and getting the word out and helping me report this type of reposting theft. I don't think it would've happened so quickly without all of your help, so I am very grateful and appreciative of the community's awesome response! THANK YOU!!!!!

OK, guys, help me with this one.

So there's someone on fanfiction.net named christopercy reposting my chapters of "The Royal Omega" on their author's page without my permission. But they left my author's name on chapter one and a note that they're going to turn it into a Stiles/Jackson fic. Um...what the fuck?

Here's the link: <https://www.fanfiction.net/s/9966063/1/Royal-Omega>

I left a message to that person to stop reposting my story and to delete it. I swear, it's crap like this that will make me close down shop and delete my stories off AO3. I'm so pissed off about this, guys, this is not the first time my fics have been stolen, reposted without permission, or outright plagiarized.

 

 


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: A major thank you to everyone who helped me get my stolen fic off fanfiction.net. In 24-hours, because so many of you reported it, the ffnet mods deleted “The Royal Omega” off the ffnet user’s page (including all the other stolen fics and the ffnet user deleted their account). So this chapter is for you!
> 
>  
> 
> Warnings: Rape/non-con memory flashback. There’s nothing explicit or graphic, but Stiles has a panic attack because of it.

 

 

Stiles wasn’t sure what to expect when he met Derek’s family, but it wasn’t this, being hugged by Derek’s older sister, Laura, like Stiles was a long lost brother; or being scented with the kind of affection that only close family members or mates showed to each other. She rubbed the tip of her nose against his neck, her warm breath huffing against his skin, raising goosebumps on his arms. It was weird, to be touched like this, by someone who smelled like Derek, cut with the softness of jasmine and wildflowers and rain. She didn’t carry the scent of a werewolf with a pack, only vague lingering unique scents of a couple of werewolves, and it tugged at Stiles because this was what an _orphan_ werewolf smelled like. He had stubbornly refused to recall what Derek smelled like, but pressed against Laura’s affection and warmth, he couldn’t escape her packless scent and his wolf howled mournfully for her inside his head.

 

He stood still as Laura ran her hands up and down his back, firm hands grasping his shoulders as she pushed him back slightly to look him over, her hazel eyes holding a film of wetness.

 

“Wow. Thanks? So, yeah, that’s…”

 

“I’m sorry for the impropriety, Your Highness,” she said, eyes flashing blue for just a moment. “It’s just that…your scent, you didn’t smell like family.”

 

“Pot, meet kettle,” he said, shrugging.

 

Laura had the grace to look shame-faced, a blush on her cheeks, and Stiles felt a total asshole.

 

“I’m sorry…I let my, um, sarcasm get the best of me,” he said, meeting her eyes. “You can call me Stiles, if you want.”

 

“Perhaps His Highness needs to finish his bond to Derek,” the older man, their Uncle Peter Hale, murmured as he watched them from his place in the armchair. Stiles frowned at that comment, words of denial on his tongue, when he saw that the older man was stroking his hand on a plush gray wolf toy. A child’s toy. The man glanced at Stiles and then dropped his gaze to the wolf in his hands, tucking it against his chest protectively, as if Stiles would try and take it from him.

 

“Listen, that’s not going to happen any time soon so you can just get used to the way that I smell or don’t smell me at all,” Stiles said, backing out of Laura’s grasp, his arms crossed in front of his chest.

 

Derek let out a soft sound and Stiles ignored him, instead keeping an eye on the door and making sure that no one was going to block his way out.

 

“I am sincerely sorry for what my brother did to you. You have to know that we didn’t agree to this,” she said, turning her head to glare at Derek.

 

Derek stared at papers on his desk, ignoring all of them.

 

“You didn’t stop him though,” Stiles said, bluntly.

 

Laura closed her eyes and nodded, looking at Stiles.

 

“Anyway, welcome to – welcome back to Beacon Hills. I hope—“

 

The door to Derek’s suite opened and Stiles hurried out of the way, keeping his distance from the newcomer. He wasn’t much older than Stiles, and he gave Stiles only a curt nod before walking directly to Derek.

 

“Report.”

 

“Isaac has returned with the Royal Guards and the rest of the Argents,” the man said, giving Stiles a steady glance. “They’re driving onto the courtyard now.”

 

Derek walked to the glass doors to the balcony overlooking the gated entrance way to the Palace. He flung the doors opened and stepped out, his hands on top of the balcony railing as he looked down at the activity on the courtyard. The family residences were on the third floor of the Palace, but it wasn’t so high that they couldn’t see what was going on below.

 

Stiles waited until everyone followed Derek out and he took his time, moving to the far end of the long balcony where he could look down, too. There were a dozen black SUVs with tinted windows parking on the courtyard, the doors emblazoned with the symbol of the Stilinski Royal Crest. Guards wearing black tactical uniforms and holding weapons pulled out three people, a distinguished looking older man, a woman with short dark auburn hair, and a younger woman with long dark blonde hair. They looked rumpled and tired, their fear well hidden by the coldness of their expressions. Their hands were cuffed in the front, two armed guards each holding their arms, as they were marched into the Palace.

 

Stiles assumed that they were the rest of Allison’s family. He looked over at Derek to see that his eyes were glowing red, his claws were out and leaving deep grooves on the marble balcony railing.

 

“Be sure to make them _welcome_ in the dungeons, Boyd,” Derek growled, glaring down at the Argents. “And be especially careful of that witch, Kate. Keep her hands cuffed and don’t ever turn your back on her. Move Gerard into the farthest cell in the dungeons. Give him nothing unless he’s about to die.” Derek looked at his Beta, waiting for Boyd to accept his orders. “Post guards in the dungeons and let them all know that if any Argent escapes from their cells on their watch, I’ll rip off their heads for incompetence. No one sees them but me.”

 

Boyd nodded and left the balcony as quickly and as silently as he entered.

 

“I never thought I’d see this day come,” Peter said, softly. “Thank you, nephew. Agatha is very pleased by your gesture.”

 

 _Who was Agatha?_ Stiles made a face, looking at the elder Hale. There was something seriously creepy and off about him. Laura caught Stiles looking and she gave him a displeased frown. It made Stiles twitch and he gave her an apologetic look before she turned away.

 

Laura took Peter by the hand, tugging him gently towards the doors. “Come on, Uncle Peter, I’ll have the kitchen send up some tea. I think you need to rest. Agatha’s had a very exciting few days and it’s time for her nap, don’t you think?”

 

“Of course, yes, very good of you to remember, Laura.”

 

Stiles swallowed back his fear and confusion, keeping his distance from Derek, but watching him all the same. Derek didn’t show a lot of emotion – mostly anger and gruff hostility or stoic silence – but Stiles could see that the werewolf was lurking too close to the surface now; that Derek was looking for any excuse to fight, to lash with his claws, to tear through skin and muscle and bone. Stiles might be an Omega mated to an Alpha, but that didn’t mean it protected him from an Alpha’s fury.

 

He took a few breaths to settle his heart, to calm himself before taking the few steps that would get him off the balcony, and then a few more to get him out of Derek’s suite of rooms. He licked his lips and started slowly edging his way along the wall of windows towards the doors. It would only take about four more steps before he could make his escape, and he kept his focus on being as quiet as possible, to leave Derek to his anger and his thoughts.

 

“Where do you think you’re going?”

 

“Not that you need to know, but I’m just going back to my rooms,” he said, softly. “You—you seem to want to be alone.”

 

Derek turned his head and stared at Stiles, his red eyes flicking over him and narrowing. “Don’t test me right now, Stiles.”

 

“Don’t take your anger out on me, Derek.”

 

He held Derek’s red gaze for a long moment, not wanting to back down, but there was no way that Stiles could stand up to the will of an Alpha. He might be strong enough or stubborn enough to resist the Alpha Voice, to carelessly and easily shrug off commands from those who thought they were better than his status as Omega; but Stiles was no match to the long patience of an Alpha werewolf, like a wolf in nature who would stalk their prey for days, ignoring cravings of hunger and the lonesome howls of its pack, to ensure that he could take it down and bring it to the pack to feed on. No other werewolf had that kind of will than an Alpha.

 

“Then go, stay out of my way until the Coronation ceremony tomorrow night,” Derek said, jerking his head to the door and turning his back on Stiles.

 

***

 

“His Majesty made the formal announcement early this morning at 5:45 AM of his intent to ascend to the throne. His Emissary submitted the Royal Letter of Ascension to all the major outlets so it’s all over the morning news now,” Scott said, looking at the leather folder in his hands. “He hosted a private breakfast with the Alphas of the 50 packs of the kingdom at 8:30 AM. It lasted for about two hours, but His Majesty left as soon as protocol allowed. He’s scheduled a lunch tomorrow with all of the Alpha Heirs and he asked that you attend.”

 

“Fine, I guess. It’ll be weird, but whatever. Was my dad allowed to attend the breakfast this morning?” Stiles said, finally getting out of the head lock that Erica had him in and giving a victorious whoop, throwing his hands into the air. Erica rolled her eyes and raised her eyebrow, beckoning him to attack.

 

“Yes. His Majesty made sure that your dad had the seat of honor at the table,” Scott murmured, taking a deep breath. Stiles snorted, shaking his head. “He’s following every protocol, though he doesn’t look all that comfortable with the pomp and circumstance.”  

 

Stiles snorted; he couldn’t imagine Derek sitting there with all the Lords and Ladies of the Royal Court, making small talk about the weather or pack politics or foreign trade or court gossip or any of the million other topics that the Alphas would bring to the Alpha King. Even his dad, who was groomed for the Court all his life, couldn’t always keep up with the demands of the Royal Court. Maybe Derek didn’t think this through, didn’t expect that he’d have to do all the heavy lifting of being an Alpha King, that it wasn’t just a crown or a title or a symbolic chair on a raised dais. If Derek showed weakness to the packs, if they scented blood, then the Royal Court wouldn’t hesitate to use their political clout to force him out and they’d make sure that Derek didn’t survive this time around. If Derek had any smarts, he’d ask Stiles for help. Whether Stiles gave him the support Derek needed…well, Stiles wasn’t sure yet. He could align himself politically with the Royal Court and throw Derek to the wolves, pun intended, and take the crown for himself.

 

“No one should be comfortable with it, dude.” Stiles kept his eyes on Erica as she feinted to the right, the deep cleavage of her tank top tempting Stiles to distraction. “Did anyone try to poison him?”

 

“There was no assassination attempt,” Scott informed him.

 

“Shame,” Stiles murmured, moving to his left, watching as Erica’s right shoulder dropped slightly, giving herself away. He grinned to himself, thinking that he had the upper hand, he moved in close and grabbed at her arm, pushing it behind her until she smacked at his thigh and wiggled out of his grasp. _Damn it, she was wily._ “Okay, what else?”

 

“His Majesty keeps his two Betas close, um, Isaac Lahey and Vernon Boyd – call him Boyd, he doesn’t like to be called by his first name, by the way; and Lady Hale is, um, pretty freaking scary.” Scott paused for a thoughtful moment, tapping his fingers against the folder. “They’re young, and it’s obvious that court life is totally new to them. I think Lady Hale will figure it out, but the Betas, they’re more soldiers than royal counsel. His Majesty needs to figure out which of the Ministers he can trust and put together an inner circle of advisors.”

 

“What about his Emissary? I’m surprised that he has one,” Stiles said, mulling over what Scott said.

 

“I haven’t met her yet; the talk by the staff is that she’s beautiful and carries herself like every other Druid Emissary. Her name is—“

 

“Jennifer,” Erica said, taking an opening and grabbing Stiles by the arm and flipping him across her body. He landed on his back on the floor mat, winded and annoyed.

 

“Jesus, I was listening to my advisor!”

 

“You should always pay attention to your surroundings!”

 

“Yeah, okay,” Stiles said, taking a deep breath and staring Erica in the eyes. “Help me up and go again.”

 

“Good,” she said, pulling him to his feet yet again.

 

“Wait, how did you know the name of his Emissary?” Stiles asked her, puzzled.

 

“She’s one of us, doofus.”

 

“Oh, right, yeah, makes sense, I guess.”

 

If the Amazonians were the only ones to give the Hales shelter, of course it would be one of them who would stand as Emissary to the Hale pack. Who else would Derek be able to trust to hold that position? Druids were supposedly neutral, but they were loyal to the Alpha that they served. But “served” wasn’t the right word because Druids weren’t anyone’s servant, they were rational thinkers and advisors, and acted in good faith as liaisons to werewolves and humans on behalf of the Alpha.

 

He circled her, staying out of her reach, his eyes following her eyes. He knew that Erica gave fake signals with her body, so he couldn’t trust any of them; but it was her eyes, he realized, that gave her away. He needed to keep his focus on her eyes and not fall into the trap of her body.

 

“What’s your impression of creepy uncle Peter Hale?”

 

“Lady Hale told me that he barely survived the fire and that seeing his pregnant wife burn to death messed him up,” Scott whispered, dutifully sharing information. “Would mess anyone up, you know.”

 

Erica and Stiles both paused to turn and look at him.

 

“Her name was Jane; they were planning to name their baby Agatha.”

 

“Well, that explains the name,” Stiles said to himself.

 

“What?”

 

“Nothing, go on,” he said, waving to Scott to continue. He looked at Erica and placed his feet in position again, motioning for her to attack him.

 

“The courtyard is starting to fill up with visitors; they say that the ceremony will begin on time, after moon rise.”

 

She kicked Stiles’s feet out from under him and he landed flat on his back with a soft yelp.

 

“Come on, Stiles, concentrate!” Erica hissed at him.

 

“I am!”

 

“I’m just a girl, you should be able to take me down.” She said, holding out her hand to pull him back on his feet. “Focus!”

 

Stiles rolled his eyes, grappling with her, trying to get his footing so that he could trip her to the mat. “Don’t give me that crap. You’re an Amazonian werewolf born and raised, not to mention that you’re the youngest warrior trainer in a pack made up of kickass warrior women who scare the crap out of every male who has the bad luck to encounter one of you.”

 

“Oh, you almost got her that time, Stiles,” Scott said, encouragingly.

 

Erica swept her long blonde hair back into a ponytail and huffed out a breath, looking at him. “You fight in all the wrong way, Stiles. You attack when you should be patient and wait for the other person to attack. You won’t take an opening right in front of your face and attack when you should. You signal your intentions as clearly as if you’re announcing them with your mouth. All of the people who taught you how to fight and defend yourself totally failed you. A pissed off 10-year old with a table knife could take you down!”

 

Scott snorted, hiding it with a hoarse cough-laugh, turning away and hiding behind his leather folder as he stared at Stiles, his brown eyes widening over the edge. Stiles took a deep breath and ran his hands through his sweat damp hair.

 

“Look, it’s not like anyone thought I’d ever really need to fight or defend myself. I’m an Omega, no one’s going to beat me up. My trainers taught me how to work through pain and keep my mind alert if I’m ever kidnapped and tortured and I have some basic fighting skills, but that’s pretty much it.”

 

“So just because you’re an Omega, werewolves are genetically conditioned to protect and love you? To coddle you?” Erica said, walking towards him. She placed her hand on his shoulder. “ _You_ know better than anyone else that not all werewolves follow that conditioning; some are animals that need to be put down.”

 

Stiles gritted his teeth, glaring at her, feeling his face flush hotly. “So, what, you’re going to throw that in my face to motivate me to fight better?”

 

“I’m trying to tell you that it’s not your fault.”

 

“Maybe…maybe I could’ve fought him off if I had better fight training. Made him stop, made him listen. I mean—“

 

“Still wouldn’t have been your fault, Stiles.” She let him go and stepped back. “We could stop. Maybe we need to go back to the basics, start you off with running and—“

 

“I’m capable of learning, Erica,” he told her, sharply. “I can do this, come on.”

 

She gave him a measuring look and then nodded. “Okay, let’s go back to the head lock, show me what you’d do to get out of it.”

 

He nodded, letting her come closer. “Don’t kick me in the balls or anything, okay?”

 

Erica put him into a headlock, her arms curved under his armpits, hands locked behind his neck. Stiles flailed around for a few moments, trying to find his center of gravity, until he knocked the back of his head against Erica’s chin.

 

“Shit, sorry, Erica—“

 

She dropped him to his knees and Stiles fell forward, trying to hold himself up with his hands, trying to buck her off of him and heard her harsh gasp and—

 

And it was like that night with Derek. With Derek holding him down against the bed, breathing against his ear as he wrestled Stiles down to his belly.

 

_“No, please, don’t—“_

_“Stiles, stop fighting me, stop fighting our bond,” Derek husked, nipping his earlobe and grabbing his arms, rolling him so that Stiles was on his back, held down by Derek’s body. “I don’t want to hurt you. I want to make you feel good.”_

_“I don’t want this—“_

_“It’s too late for us, the bond’s been set and you belong to me now, you’re mine.”_

_“Just stop—“_

_“Put your legs around me.”_

_“Don’t make me do this, Derek, please, don’t!”_

_“I’ll take care of you if you let me.”_

 

Stiles screamed against the mat, his body shuddering.

 

“God, Stiles, what is it? What did I do?” Erica shouted, letting him go, her hands moving over him to check for injuries.

 

“No! Don’t touch me!”

 

“Get away from him, Erica!” Scott yelled, kneeling on the mat beside Stiles. “Just back off, right now. Right now!” He felt Scott’s Alpha Voice vibrate through him, the shockwaves echoing in the room. Erica backed away quickly, hissing lowly as she cowered against the floor.

 

Stiles curled against the mat, covering his head with his arms. “Ohmygod…ohmygod, I’m not…I can’t breathe, can’t—Scott—“

 

“Okay, it’s okay buddy, I’m right here. I’m right here, take my hand, okay? Come on, Stiles, take my hand and breathe with me,” Scott said, his voice firm but calm.

 

He held a shaking hand out to Scott, feeling like his lungs were filled with sand, his throat tight, an invisible noose around his neck that was tightening and tightening.

 

“Breathe, Stiles, breathe through your mouth if you have to,” Scott said, holding Stiles’s hand in a hard grip, grounding him. “I’m going to count to ten. Count with me. Breathe when I count! Come on, Stiles, one.”

 

Stiles gasped, trying to suck in air through his mouth. “One…”

 

“Two.”

 

He exhaled, gagging on air. He breathed in, choking on it. “Two…”

 

“Three! You can do it, Stiles, come on. Three!”

 

He gagged again, but this time, he felt his lungs expand. “Three…”

 

“Four. Doing good, buddy, you’re doing good.”

 

“Four,” Stiles breathed out, coughing roughly.

 

“Five. Half way there, Stiles.”

 

“Five,” he said, inhaling steadily. He coughed again, tasting bile in his mouth. “Five.”

 

“Good. Six, Stiles, breathe in and out.”

 

Stiles tightened his hold of Scott’s hand, exhaling. “Six.”

 

“Seven. Right? Almost there. Seven. Say it with me.”

 

“Seven.”

 

“Eight,” Scott said, patting his hand.

 

Stiles breathed in and out. “Eight.”

 

“Nine.”

 

He blinked the tears from his eyes. “Nine.”

 

“Ten. Say it, say ten, you’re breathing again, it’s okay.”

 

“Ten,” he said, his body going lax on the mat, legs still trembling. He looked at Scott and saw him give a reassuring smile. “Okay…okay…I’m…okay now.”

 

“Oh god, Stiles, I’m so sorry,” Erica said, kneeling on the mat a few feet away. “I should’ve known that it would trigger something. I’m so sorry.”

 

Stiles gave her a wave; he couldn’t be angry at her. He didn’t even know that it would trigger his memories of that night and that he’d spiral right into a full blown panic attack.

 

“Erica, could you bring us one of the bottled water?” Scott said, rubbing his other hand up and down Stiles’s arm. The familiar touch and the warmth made Stiles feel better. He let out a soft sound and Scott responded with a squeeze of his hand. He was glad Scott was there; no one else would’ve understood what was happening to him.

 

“Yes,” she said, running across the practice room to the small steel fridge and getting out two bottles. She handed them to Scott. “Should I call for the doctor?”

 

Stiles shook his head. “No, don’t. Don’t tell anyone.”

 

“You sure?” Scott said, worriedly. “It’s been a long time since you had a panic attack.”

 

“Just—I just need a moment, okay?” He gave Scott a look, wanting to be alone, and he knew Scott would get it.

 

“Erica, would you leave us alone? I’ll let you know how he is later and maybe we can put off Stiles’s training for a few days, okay?”

 

“Of course. Stiles, I’m so sorry. This won’t happen again.”

 

“Okay,” he said, nodding to her weakly. He held it together long enough until she was out of the room and he pressed his face against the mat and sobbed, curling in on himself. Scott kept holding his hand and rubbing his arm, keeping him grounded. “Fuck…I’m not okay, Scott, I’m not okay.”

 

“I hear you, bro,” Scott whispered, his brown eyes wet and earnest. “What can I do? How can I help?”

 

“I just…just stay with me for a bit, okay?”

 

Scott squeezed his hand. “Okay.”

 

***

 

Scott waited as Stiles took a shower in the practice room’s private spa, handing him a warm towel and clean workout clothes, telling him the gossip that he heard from his immense network of Palace staff spies of the comings and goings of the Royal Court. He didn’t want to be alone so he followed Scott to his set of rooms, just wanting to crash for a little bit, maybe play some videogames to get his mind off everything.

 

“Oh shit, I forgot, Allison’s here,” Scott said, his hand on the doorknob. He gave Stiles an apologetic look and Stiles shrugged, patting his back.

 

“It’s all right, man, I get it. Come on, I want to talk to her.”

 

Princess Allison was sitting in an armchair, reading a book, when she looked up at them and smiled. She stood gracefully and gave a pretty curtsey. “Your Highness—“

 

“It’s just Stiles,” he said, sitting on the couch. “I have news. The Royal Guards brought in your family. Derek’s holding them in the dungeons with your dad.”

 

She closed the book and set it on the table, sitting down hard on the chair. “Is there any way that I can visit them? I just want to see for myself that they’re okay. Do you think you could ask His Majesty if I could be allowed to visit them?”

 

If he asked Derek, he was sure that Derek would force another “favor” on him, another debt that Stiles would have to repay with his honor and his promise. He wasn’t even sure what Derek would want to collect for the favor he gave for allowing Allison out of the dungeons. The favors would rack up, and at some point, Derek would want to collect on them.

 

“I don’t—“

 

“Please, Stiles,” she said, taking a deep breath. “I’ve heard about what my grandfather did to His Majesty and his family. I don’t condone their actions but they’re still my family, my pack.”

 

He didn’t want to be angry at Allison for asking; it’s not like she knew that Derek traded in favors. He just didn’t want to be in this position, currying for favors from that asshole to help his friends. Allison was barely a prisoner, trapped inside the Palace. Stiles might have all the rights and privileges of his status as a Royal Heir, but he was just as trapped, too.

 

“My family’s not innocent either,” he said, looking at her. “Derek said that our grandfathers conspired to destroy the Hale pack to take over Beacon Hills…and that my grandfather exiled your family as their reward for their help.”

 

Allison inhaled deeply and sighed, Stiles could see her steeling herself, could sense that she was drawing on an inner strength and focus. “And Derek Hale gets to have his revenge on both of our families when he takes the throne.” She frowned, looking at her hands. “Is he going to execute us?”

 

“I don’t know,” Stiles admitted, biting his lip.

 

“And would you protect us if Derek makes that decision?”

 

He noticed that she dropped the royal title and something changed in her face. Derek was right, the Princess was being trained to be the next Matriarch of the Argent pack. She would be a strong ally to have in the kingdom, there was nothing weak about her, no matter what she portrayed to the court. But there was just too much between their families, that an alliance between a Stilinski and an Argent would be seen as a move against the Hales.

 

And knowing that their three bloodlines were related, that his mother was an Argent heir, he knew that if anyone found out, there would be chaos in the packs. The chaos was something he couldn’t afford to have in the kingdom right now; their treaties and alliances and allegiances were held by a thread that could be easily severed, throwing the werewolves back to the darker times when the packs weren’t unified.

 

“I would protect all the packs,” he said, diplomatically. “I won’t let Derek take his vengeance out on our families from his new place on the throne.”

 

She gave him a brief nod, and then a warm smile reappeared on her lips as she looked at him. “I believe that you’ll find a way, Stiles.”

 

Scott nodded, the relief on his face obvious. “Want me to call up for some pizza?”

 

***

 

After having dinner with Scott and Allison in Scott’s rooms, Stiles finally made his way down the hallway to his own suite. He stopped at the door, sniffing the familiar scent lingering in the air, and he opened the door and pushed it inside to see Peter Hale standing in front of the bookcase, a small smile on his lips.

 

“How did you get into my rooms?”

 

“Please pardon my intrusion, Your Highness, but I wanted to have a private moment with you.”

 

Stiles kept the door wide open and walked slowly into the room. “What about?”

 

“I’m here in peace, you have nothing to fear from me,” Peter murmured, his hands sliding into the pockets of his dress pants.

 

“Why do you carry around that wolf toy?”

 

Peter grinned. “Ah. My eccentric behavior must be disturbing to you. It’s the only thing I have left of my family. It was a gift for my unborn daughter, Agatha. Fitting, isn’t it, that I cling to it like a security blanket. Stiles, I’m clinically insane; but I do have moments where my mind is clear.”

 

“Which moment is this?”

 

“I’m not holding Agatha, am I?”

 

Stiles chewed on his lip. “So what do you want from me?”

 

“From all accounts, you are a lovely young man, good-hearted, and believed to be a good leader,” he said, bright blue eyes looking Stiles over carefully. “I know my nephew has hurt you greatly and there’s nothing I can say to ever make up for what he did.”

 

He narrowed his eyes at Peter. “But…”

 

“Our archaic laws state that a royal Omega-born heir cannot sit on the throne that he was born to inherit without an Alpha mate. And Derek cannot reclaim his House without the authority of the throne. At moon rise, there will be a Coronation, and Derek will be the Alpha King of the 50 werewolf packs. You will be his Prince Consort. Your powers are to be shared, balanced. Derek has no experience with any of this and I can see the strain that the frustration and the fear are having on him. He’s too proud and he’s too ashamed of himself, he’ll never ask you for help, not even when he needs it to survive. The Royal Court will not allow a weak Alpha to sit on the throne, we both know that, don’t we, Stiles?”

 

“As interesting as this exposition is, Peter, you still haven’t told me what you want.”

 

Peter sighed, giving him a rueful smile. “I apologize; when I have moments of lucidity, I find that I tend to talk excessively. My request is twofold: that you help Derek rule the packs and to help him find his humanity. I know I have no right to ask this of you, not after what he’s done, but he isn’t a monster. He did an evil thing, a truly monstrous thing—“

 

“Peter, I can’t talk about this with you,” he said, gritting his teeth. His hands curled into fists as his stomach plummeted inside. “I have absolutely no desire to help Derek find a fucking pen, let alone his _humanity_.”

 

He watched as the older werewolf noded, an apologetic grin on his lips. “I apologize for upsetting you. I hope that you’ll visit with me, though I can’t guarantee that I’ll be at my best at any given time.” He nodded to the bookcase. “We share a similar taste in literature, it’ll be nice to have someone to talk to.” He took his hands out of his pockets and gave Stiles a small bow. “Well, good evening, Your Highness. I’ll see you later tonight at the ceremony.”

 

Stiles watched as Peter walked out of his room, humming a little tune. He gave a full bodied shiver and shook his head, letting out a deep breath. He was going to have a guard stationed outside his door from now on. He walked to the door and closed it, locking it. He double checked that it was locked. It was almost nightfall; once the moon was high in the sky, the Coronation would begin. And he would have to stand there and watch the man who raped him take his father’s throne – **his** throne – the werewolf who was his mate, his Alpha.

 

He scoffed. _Help Derek find his humanity._ Fuck that. Fuck no. He wasn’t going to help Derek find a goddamned thing. He rubbed his face, walking to the bathroom to take another shower and then get ready, put on his royal robes. Not that it was going to mean anything; this was really just a public ceremony. When Derek had claimed Stiles as his mate to the Royal Court, it was a done deal. The Coronation just put the final nail in the coffin. And like other royal families, he and Derek wouldn’t even have to spend any time together. They would both take on their duties to the kingdom, they had staff that could communicate between them. It was only a mating of inconvenience, as far as Stiles was concerned. It wasn’t like they were going to—

 

**Oh god.**

 

“Oh fuck,” Stiles hissed, standing under the hot water spraying down on him. “Ohmygod. Oh fuck!”

 

After the Coronation ceremony was…was _First Night_. The official consummation of their mating and marriage. Surely Derek wouldn’t…he wouldn’t, would he? Stiles would _kill him_ if he touched him again. Not even for this – this stupid, traditional law—there was no fucking way. _No fucking way_ Stiles was going to let this happen. Not tonight; not again; not ever.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for the 2nd part of this chapter: I’m not sure if there’s a better way to tag this, but the warnings for this chapter includes rape survivor coercive angry hate sex that rides the line of dubcon. Stiles still hasn’t had time to process his rape and what happened to him, he’s still experiencing PTSD or RTS; he’s also suppressing what happened because of external pressures and his sense of duty as a royal. For Stiles, he’s attempting to reassert control over his body and his sexual responses. It’s unhealthy, but this is part of Stiles’s journey.

STILES! STILES! STILES!

 

“Wow, great turn out!” Stiles said, cheerfully as he walked out of the Palace and held his hands up in the air, waving at the mass of people waving and calling his name. The Palace plaza was lit with giant lights giving a glow of daylight-like brightness everywhere. He turned to his Royal Guards. “Come on, I want to go closer. I want to say hi.”

 

“We don’t recommend this, Your Highness.”

 

WE LOVE YOU!

 

Stiles laughed and shouted back, “I love you, too!”

 

He threw back his head and let out a warbled howl; he laughed, delightedly, when he heard a series of “aroo” howls, most of them human howls, called back to him.

 

STILES! STILES! STILES! STILES!

 

“Your Highness, you should take your place on the stage—“

 

“What’s going to happen to me on a night like this?” Stiles walked down the steps and moved past the security protecting the Palace entrance, and made his way to the first group of people, children holding up signs declaring ‘Long Live Prince Stiles’ and ‘Hurray to the New Alpha King.’

 

“Hey, guys, thanks for coming out, how are you?” Stiles greeted, smiling and laughing as he walked into the crowd. He was amazed by how people just naturally gave him space, shuffling to the side so that Stiles wasn’t completely engulfed. “So good to see you! What a gorgeous night, huh?”

In the oldest werewolf traditions, all celebrations were held when the moon was at its highest place in the night sky. It wasn’t always on a full moon, though some traditional packs still celebrated the full moon phases in the spring and in the fall; after werewolves integrated into human society, many of the traditions faded away, replaced by the usual commercialization of werewolf-human holidays.

Stiles considered himself to be a Progressive, but he respected the traditions and often asked his father to hold special festivals in town, inviting all the residents of Beacon Hills to come and celebrate together. It wasn’t unusual to find the human residents mingling with the werewolves on any given holiday or festival. Beacon Hills boasted decades of peace and harmoniousness under the Stilinski rule and Stiles would ensure that that continued under the _Hale_ rule.

 

So tonight, the Palace had opened its gates to all of the Beacon Hills residents and to the fifty werewolf packs. The coronation of an Alpha King was, traditionally, a secret meeting with all the pack Alphas declaring as one to respect and honor the Alpha King’s rulership over them and over all the packs. They would kneel and swear fealty under a full moon, then change out of their human skins and run through the woods as wolves, fulfilling their natures as they saw fit. A few days later, a ceremony would be held, controlled and tempered, to show the public that the werewolves were civil and responsible and _human_.

 

But not this night.

 

Derek had opened the ceremony to everyone; his Emissary had twisted the story so Derek’s return from exile sounded like a hero’s adventure. The human and werewolf news vans were parked outside the Palace perimeter, hundreds of lights and cameras and reporters surrounding the Palace, waiting for the new Alpha King to be crowned. Stiles wasn’t sure if he was disgusted or saddened by the revisionist history; to be honest, he wasn’t sure what was the truth anymore. He wasn’t sure if he should feel dirty or relieved for the cleaned up version of the Stilinski-Hale-Argent triumvirate of dirty politics and power plays. The Royal Court had fallen right in line soon after, throwing their support to Derek.

 

_It’s not fear that drives a werewolf to follow a strong Alpha; it’s the fear of not having an Alpha to follow,_ his father once told him. _No matter the political games the Royal Court plays, always remember that they fear being packless and being aimless more than even death._

 

Stiles made his way through the throng of people, shaking hands, accepting flowers, taking selfies with everyone who asked. He wasn’t going to just stand on the stage and be gawked over, and obviously, Derek and his family were still hidden away somewhere in the Palace. He wouldn’t come out until it was time. But Stiles was going to make sure to do his duty and that he would be seen an equal ruling partner to the new Alpha King. Most of all, he wanted to know the people that his decisions would affect.

 

One of his Royal Guards tapped his shoulder. “Your Highness, the Alpha King has made his appearance.”

 

It was time for the official ceremony to begin.

 

Stiles nodded his acceptance and completed his last round with the crowds and made his way to the stage. One of the Royal Guards gently took the flowers and gifts from him. He took a deep breath and took the three steps up to the stage. He told himself that he wasn’t going to the gallows, to his death; that he should, at least, look happy to be with his Alpha. After all, the story that was publically released was one of Stiles running off with the exiled Derek on the night of his Choosing.

 

And there they were now, to have to stand together in front of everyone. Stiles wore his usual black suit and his royal red sash. He wasn’t sure what he had expected of his mate, but Derek was dressed in a dark gray suit and a white dress shirt. He wore a blue sash with his House crest embroidered along the silk. Except now, there was a gold crown emblazoned over the crest to symbolize his status as Alpha King. He hadn’t shaved and still gave off the vibe that he was unapproachable, but as the new Alpha King, he looked fearsome and imposing. Stiles swallowed, meeting Derek’s red glowing eyes, as he walked closer to him.

 

Derek stretched out one of his hands towards Stiles, his fingers together and palm open, patiently waiting for Stiles to make his move. He was certain that from an outsider’s point of view, the gesture was gentlemanly and affectionate; Stiles wasn’t sure if he wanted to accept either from Derek. The noise had died down as everyone held their breath, waiting to see what happened next. Stiles could hear the whispers through the crowd, the news reporters speaking in respectful, hushed tones into their microphones and cameras, everyone focused on the two of them.

 

He could publically refuse Derek’s hand and pretty much declare to the packs and to the world that this wasn’t a match he wanted, despite the romanticized bullshit of their affair. It would release a flood of gossip and speculation on a level that he couldn’t imagine; it would thwart Derek’s ability to rule and it would create a deep chasm throughout the Royal Court.

 

All because of something as simple as refusing Derek’s hand.

 

He met Derek’s dark gaze. There was no anger there, no sense of arrogance or expectation. But there wasn’t a sense of hope or any kind of plea for Stiles to play along either. Stiles knew this was his choice; and he could choose to make a public declaration that would ruin Derek and possibly even ruin the entire Royal system.

 

He gave a tight smile and took Derek’s hand; the uproar of approval through the crowd was deafening and Stiles ducked his head and blushed as Derek led him towards the front of the stage.

 

It didn’t mean anything. It didn’t mean that Stiles was accepting Derek in any way. It didn’t mean that Stiles forgave Derek for what he did. This was politics. This was royal obligation. This was holding it together in front of the packs. He looked to the side to see his father, dressed in his usual finery, but exhaustion marked his handsome, rugged face. They exchanged a look – one of pride from his father and Stiles returned one of inevitability – and Stiles inhaled deeply and smiled at the people staring up at them, raising Derek’s clasped hand into the air between them as the crowd let out another loud roar, waving his free hand to the crowds.

 

Because even if he did make his refusal of Derek’s simple gesture a public declaration and denounce him as nothing but a political match, there was no guarantee that Stiles wouldn’t suffer the same desolate fate of isolation from the packs as he was certain Derek would. Maybe it was selfish on his part, but he liked being the Royal Omega and he liked being able to shape the future of his packs. And he wasn’t going to let Derek take what was left of his destiny; he wasn’t going to let Derek destroy both of them.

 

Because he felt it, in his bones and through his Spark, the inevitability of a _lifetime_ with the Alpha by his side.

 

***

 

**Please note the warning, begins in this chapter.**

 

The parties would continue long into the early hours of the morning, through the next day, and probably the next night. Beacon Hills wasn’t only known for its peace and harmony, it was a town that knew how to throw an awesome party. Any other day, Stiles would be in the thick of it, drinking down wolfsbane-infused champagne and dancing with anyone brave enough to be seen with him, joking and laughing with his pack.

 

After making the rounds with a polite and sedate Derek by his side, accepting the warm wishes from the people and oaths of fealty from members of the other packs, Stiles had finally been able to slip away from the crowd to walk into the Palace gardens to spend an hour or two alone. He stared at the balcony overlooking the gardens, the site of his first meeting with Derek Hale. Was it only just a little over a week since he turned 21, the night of his Choosing? This was not what he had expected that night, when he had stood under the moon and daydreamed about what his life would’ve be like to be mated to Princess Lydia Martin; it felt like something that had happened a lifetime ago.

 

And now, he could look forward to a lifetime of being mated to Derek Hale.

 

As the night sky lightened, Scott walked slowly to Stiles with heavy footfalls, an apologetic look on his face. Stiles smirked, Scott looked pretty worse for wear. He was carrying his suit jacket in his hands, his dress shirt wrinkled and buttoned wrong, the back of the shirt untucked from his suit pants. He also seemed to be missing a sock and he smelled of wolfsbane-infused alcohol and sex. No doubt he had probably snuck away during the festivities to spend quality time with Allison.

 

Tradition dictated that a trusted friend or guardian escorted the new mate to the private chambers for First Night. One would assume that this was supposed to be a happy and exciting time; but in truth, it was the responsibility of this trusted friend or guardian to make sure that the new mate didn’t try to escape his or her First Night duties and “escorted” often meant “tied up and delivered” to the bed chamber.

 

“Your Highness.”

 

“Hey, buddy, I guess it’s time, huh?”

 

Scott stared at the ground between them, his shoulders slumped and dark eyes focused on nothing in particular. “There’s…there’s probably a word, a nasty word, to call a person who takes another person to…to be forced to have sex. I don’t know what that word is, but that’s me.”

 

Stiles put his water bottle on the ground and pushed himself up against the tree he was sitting under. He had spent the past few hours thinking about a lot of things; made some decisions for what he would do next. He walked to his best friend – his brother – and placed his hands on Scott’s shoulders.

 

“You’re not delivering me to a fate worse than death,” he said, trying for levity.

 

“Isn’t it, though? You had to do it once, I can’t believe that I have to be part of something that forces you to do it again.”

 

“It’s okay, Scott, I have a plan,” he said, shaking Scott slightly so that he could look into Scott’s eyes.

 

“Stiles, you know you can’t escape. They’ll only make me to go after you and—please don’t make me do that to you.”

 

“I’m not going to run, I promise, dude. It’s all official now, my destiny is sealed, but that doesn’t mean I have to just take whatever fate throws at me. I can make decisions, too, and I’ve come to a very important one.”

 

Scott stared at him, puzzled. “What are you going to do?”

 

“You probably don’t want to know,” he said, chuckling softly. He took a deep breath and wrapped his arm over Scott’s shoulders, walking back towards the Palace. “But it’s going to be fine. Do your last duty, make sure I get to where I need to get to, and you can go spend time with Lady Allison.”

 

“But—“

 

“Dude, please, it’s going to be fine,” Stiles said, patting Scott’s chest with his hand. “Let’s just enjoy hanging out for a little while before everything changes.”

 

Scott hugged him. “I didn’t know that things were going to change like this.”

 

“I know.”

 

He was officially mated to Alpha King Derek Hale; and after First Night, he’d be fully bonded to Derek. His wolf had already accepted the claim; and now the human side of Stiles would do the same. He would wear the mantle of Royal Prince Consort and he would take on the royal duties that fit his new position in the kingdom. He had no choice but to help Derek rule in order to ensure that the packs survived the reign of an Alpha King with a chip on his shoulder and revenge on his mind.

 

They walked back to the Palace and Stiles watched the wild revelers, music pulsing through the plaza. He wondered if his dad had retired to his rooms; if Melissa and the other Amazonians were enjoying the celebrations; if the Argents had heard the loud cheers echoing into the dungeons when Derek accepted the symbolic crown of the kingdom.

 

“You’ll spend three days and three nights in the room with His Majesty in the private suite,” Scott said, talking lowly as they walked through the Palace hallways. “You won’t be disturbed during this time…so that your bond will form. The Palace staff will deliver clean linens and towels every day and the kitchen staff will make sure that you have plenty to eat and drink. I’ve asked them to make your favorites. I made sure to…stock the bathroom and bedroom with, you know, stuff that you’ll need…if he triggers…if you go into heat.”

 

“It’s okay, Scott. Thank you.”

 

“I’ve put together a bag of your clothes and other stuff, but if you need anything, just call me and I’ll get it for you.”

 

Stiles nodded, biting his lip as Scott led them towards the north tower. The northern rooms were the most secured and private. Royal Guards wouldn’t allow anyone to pass for any reason, other than to bring supplies or food. If he called for Scott, he would be escorted to the door but wouldn’t be allowed inside unless he or Derek was dying.

 

“Hey, maybe Derek won’t even show up,” he said, grinning at Scott. “Maybe he’ll just chicken out. No one ever says anything about an Alpha not wanting to bond.”

 

“Because Alphas do want to bond, Stiles, it’s in our genetic makeup. We can’t fight it. We’re probably even more predisposed to claim a mate…probably not what you wanted to hear, sorry.”

 

“It’s not anything I didn’t already know.”

 

“Besides, even if His Majesty did try to flee, his family would hunt him down and bring him back so…”

 

Stiles laughed. “Can you just imagine Derek being hogtied and dumped into the room at my feet? It would be kind of fitting, huh?”

 

Scott looked at him and then grinned, shaking his head. “You’re terrible.”

 

They stopped outside a heavy wooden door and Scott took a deep breath, looking at Stiles. “This is it.”

 

Stiles could hear Derek’s heartbeat, steady and low, on the other side of the door. “And he’s already here.”

 

Scott nodded and opened the door for Stiles. “I’ll see you in a few days.”

 

“Okay, thanks, man,” Stiles said, giving Scott a long hug. He gave his best friend a small smile for reassurance and then stepped into the room as Scott closed the door.

 

Derek was leaning against the foot board of the massive bed, arms crossed in front of him, his right ankle crossing the other. His eyes were closed and he inhaled deeply, raising his chin. He turned and looked at Stiles.

 

“I wasn’t sure you’d actually be here.”

 

“I’m not a coward; I wasn’t going to run and embarrass my dad or my pack.”

 

Stiles rubbed the back of his head with his hand and sighed, walking into the room. He didn’t go anywhere near Derek, but instead headed to the table on the far side of the room to see what kind of fruit and food the kitchen staff had made for him. He grabbed a few grapes from the table, putting one into his mouth and biting into the plump pulp, juicy sweetness filling his mouth.

 

“Thank you for not making me look like a monster,” Derek said, softly.

 

“I didn’t do it for you.”

 

“Whatever your reasons…thank you. I’m not stupid enough to think that you did it for me.”

 

He turned to look at the Alpha, his body screaming tension and anxiety. Stiles licked his lips and plopped another grape into his mouth, chewing slowly. It was time to put things in motion, the first part of his decision to take back whatever power he had.

 

“Take off your pants,” Stiles told him, point blank.

 

Derek raised his eyebrow.

 

“You want to fuck me, right? Make me yours, claim me as mate, set the bond that you started. So take off your pants. Let’s see what I’m going to be getting again. I didn’t really get a good look at your dick the last time.”

 

Stiles walked to the bedside table and opened the top drawer to see an assortment of lube and new sex toys inside. He made a face at the toys, but picked up the bottle of lube, tossing it on the bed. He looked over his shoulder to see Derek staring at him.

 

“What kind of game are you playing?”

 

“I’m not playing a game,” Stiles said, kicking off his shoes and undoing the button of his dress pants. He dropped them to the ground and stepped out of them, bending over to pull of his socks and tossing them on the carpet. He was still wearing his boxers and his dress shirt, necktie, and jacket. “It’s First Night. Well, technically it’s First Morning, but I’m sure no one will mind that we got a bit of a late start.”

 

He picked up the bottle of lube and walked around the bed to stand in front of Derek. He felt a bit smug that Derek looked uncertain and suspicious. Stiles reached up and pushed Derek’s chest hard so that he fell back against the bed at an awkward angle.

 

Stiles slipped his fingers under the waistband of his boxers and slipped them down and off his legs, shaking the soft fabric off his feet. He dropped the lube on Derek’s chest and crawled up to straddle his hips.

 

“Stiles, what are you doing?”

 

“What do you think I’m doing, dumbass? This is what you wanted. You’ve been hinting at it ever since you told me about the coronation. It’s not like I could fight you off anyway, so I decided to just get it over with.” Stiles said, rolling his eyes. He reached down and unbuttoned Derek’s jacket, flinging the edges aside to reveal his belt. He pulled the leather tongue open and then undid the button and unzipped his pants, grabbing the tops of the slacks and dark blue boxer briefs underneath to pull them to midway Derek’s thighs.

 

“We don’t have to—“

 

Derek tried to grab Stiles’s hands, but Stiles jerked out of Derek’s hold and glared down at him.

 

“This is what you’ve created, Derek. It’s First Night and we have to get the fucking out of the way because I actually want to talk about how to rule the packs so just shut up and work with me here,” he hissed out, grabbing Derek’s semi-hard cock and stroking him firmly.

 

It didn’t take long for Derek to harden fully and Stiles picked up the lube, squeezing out a long stream over Derek’s cock before reaching down to stroke it again, making sure to cover every inch of it with the lube.

 

He wiped his hand on the bedding and squeezed more on his fingers so that he could reach between his legs to prep himself, slipping one wet finger inside of him, then two, stretching his hole as best as he could in the awkward position.

 

“Okay, whatever, here we go,” he said, moving up a little further along Derek, grabbing his cock and holding it up so that the head was pressed against his opening. He clenched his teeth as he sat back, making a face as he felt the wide head pushing inside, stretching him more than he remembered from before. “Ugh, god, motherfucker.”

 

“Just take it slow,” Derek said, his hands moving soothingly up Stiles’s thighs.

 

“Get your hands off me.”

 

Derek slipped his hands off Stiles and clenched the duvet under him, panting noisily as Stiles wiggled his hips in an attempt to ease down the rest of Derek’s cock. It took a couple of minutes but Stiles had taken him down and he caught his breath, closing his eyes.

 

“Stiles…”

 

“Don’t move. Don’t talk. Don’t do anything unless I tell you to.”

 

“Okay,” Derek whispered, licking his lips.

 

Stiles couldn’t look at him; didn’t want to see Derek’s face. He couldn’t bear to see whatever expression was on Derek’s face. It was better if Stiles could pretend that this was an anonymous fuck.

 

He sat back, one hand on Derek’s knee, his other hand going to his cock. He wasn’t hard, but he wasn’t completely soft either. He wrapped his slick hand around himself and jerked himself with hard and fast strokes. He didn’t normally get off like that, but he wasn’t going to spend half an hour teasing himself while sitting on Derek’s dick.

 

Stiles shifted his hips slightly as his cock hardened in his grip, a sense of relief flooding him so strongly that he thought he’d cry. He wasn’t sure if he could get off again; and if he didn’t think too hard about who was under him, whose cock was buried inside of him, then maybe he could get through this without wanting to kill himself. The first buzz of pleasure felt weird and far away, like he was detached from his body, but the more he kept touching himself, remembering what it felt like to have this, the easier it was to want it.

 

He gasped quietly as a fissure of intense sensation burned through his body, his spine tightening as something hot coiled low in his belly. Stiles shifted again, but this time moving up and then moving down, the dual sensation of his hand and Derek’s cock sliding through him making his blood rush into his head. He kept his eyes closed and flung his head back, moving back and forth, the sound of his hand slick and dirty, the rim of his ass throbbing and clenching around the cock inside of him.

 

It was good, he could handle this, and he could want this and give this to himself. He could have pleasure again, it wasn’t lost to him, and he didn’t give a fuck what anyone else wanted, as long as he could have this first.

 

“Stiles, please…”

 

Derek grunted, thrusting his hips as Stiles sank back, and yes, that was so much better.

 

“Let me just…”

 

Stiles ignored what Derek was saying, lost in his pleasure. He panted and groaned heartily when he felt his balls tighten, the inevitable rush of bliss swirling within him. He gritted his teeth and sucked in a hissing breath, holding it in his lungs as his body screamed for more. He felt the first pulse of come on his fingers, stroking just under the head to squeeze more of it out of him. He flexed his hips and started to grind down on Derek, feeling the head of his cock pressing against his prostate, and he groaned, head spinning, as sheer satisfaction imploded inside of his brain.

 

Distantly, he heard Derek moan, thrusting up into Stiles and shuddering deeply as he came inside of him. Stiles opened his eyes and stared down at Derek, head flung back on the bed, dark hair mussed, skin sweaty and rosy and flushed from his cheeks to his chest, and hands clenching the covers desperately.

 

He watched as Derek’s long eyelashes fluttered, mouth open in a gasp as he sucked in air. Stiles stopped moving, his hand curled around his softening cock, as Derek worked to compose himself from his orgasm. Hazel eyes looked up at him but Stiles couldn’t understand what he was supposed to see in them. Instead, he moved off of Derek’s cock carefully and got to his feet, his thigh muscles shaking. He held onto the foot board and breathed deeply and slowly, waiting for his legs to stop being jelly.

 

Somewhere, maybe in one of the fashion magazines that were found in the staff areas, he’d read an article about how you’d know you had really good sex because your legs would turn to jelly when you tried to get up. At the time, Stiles had scoffed at it and just rolled his eyes at the ridiculousness of it; but now, he wondered, in some weird place in his mind, if it was true: did he just have really good sex?

 

“Are you okay? Can I do anything?” Derek said, moving up on his elbows and looking over at Stiles.

 

Stiles shook his head. “I’m going to take a shower first. Alone, if you don’t mind.”

 

“That’s fine.”

 

“Do you know where Scott put my bag?”

 

“It’s on the arm chair.”

 

“Cool, thanks,” he said, pushing off the foot board and walking to the living room. He grabbed his bag and walked to the bathroom. He looked over at Derek before closing the door, leaving Derek half naked on the bed, alone, looking confused and slightly disturbed.

 

Stiles frowned, starting the shower and getting undressed. What the hell was Derek Hale confused or disturbed over? He’d gotten what he wanted. He was the Alpha King, he had the crown and the throne, he had the Royal Omega as his mate and Prince Consort, and he got the First Night fuck. From where Stiles was sitting, he thought Derek had everything he’d ever wanted.

 

He stared at his reflection in the mirror, frowning at the look on his face. When had he started crying? Fuck, had Derek seen him cry? Was that why he looked so disturbed? It wasn’t like he hadn’t see Stiles cry before in the middle of sex.

 

Stiles wiped his eyes with the back of his hand and sniffled. The steam felt good and he opened the glass shower door to step inside, moaning as the hot water poured over him.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Angry hate sex and sexualized violence. May also be triggery for domestic/marital abuse and violence.  
> Mention of an off-screen underage kiss (but nothing sexual or explicit beyond it).

 

Derek arched under Stiles’s weight, clawed fingers digging into the plush carpet. Stiles panted, riding Derek’s cock hard and fast, one hand braced on Derek’s chest and fisting his dress shirt in his hand. The private library was silent except for the sounds of damp flesh slapping against damp flesh and the panting noises coming from both of them.

 

Stiles looked down to see Derek, his mate and husband, with his head flung back, neck bared, and eyes squeezed shut. It was obvious that he was enjoying it, fucking Stiles. The last two months since Derek’s Coronation ceremony and their “wedding night” had been filled with countless moments like this. They didn’t have passionate and loving matings; it was always instigated by Stiles, and surprisingly, Derek never refused him. Stiles didn’t try to analyze _why_ – why he sought Derek out for angry sex; why Derek never said no.

 

Stiles raised his hand into the air and swung down hard, open palm meeting the flushed and bearded cheek below him.

 

Startled, Derek growled and glared up at him, his eyes glowing a deep red.

 

“Yeah, what’re you going to do about that?” Stiles hissed at him, not even breaking his rhythm as he fucked down on Derek. “You going to do something? Huh? Big bad wolf?”

 

Derek bared his teeth at Stiles, but otherwise didn’t move or say anything, his cheek turning a bright red where Stiles’s fingers met skin. It faded quickly and Stiles raised his hand in the air again and slapped him harder than the first time, his palm stinging for just a moment, a new layer of red blooming on Derek’s cheek. A part of him wanted to see Derek flinch.

 

This time, Derek let out a loud noise, his hands letting go of the carpet and gripping Stiles’s hips, claws pinching into his skin.

 

Stiles laughed and reached down to stroke his cock, quickening his pace as Derek started to thrust up into him, hard cock squelching into his ass and riding across his prostate. Stiles groaned, throwing back his head as he came, spurting over his fingers and dribbling onto Derek’s stomach.

 

He panted, watching as Derek gritted his teeth, head banging on the carpet as his body seemed to wrench and torque, cock moving in and out fast until he let out a series of throaty grunts, hips thrusting into the air and holding Stiles there as Derek came noiselessly. Stiles slapped him again and Derek grunted in pain or pleasure, Stiles couldn’t tell the difference, as he turned his face to the side and collapsed on the carpet, breathing heavily.

 

Stiles took a deep breath and sat back, his hands pressed on top of his thighs, feeling Derek’s come dribbling out of him. He clenched down hard and sneered when Derek shuddered involuntarily and let out a choked whimper.

 

_“My god.”_

 

They both turned to see Peter standing in the doorway, Agatha clutched in his hands as he stared at them, blue eyes wide, a look of horror on his face. He whimpered, pressing his face into his plush wolf.

 

“Jesus Christ, Peter!” Stiles shouted, pulling off of Derek’s cock and scrambling around the floor to pick up his jeans, slipping into them quickly. He grabbed his boxers and shoved them into his back pocket. He smoothed his hands over his head, down his face, turning around to look at Peter, his embarrassment turning into anger. “Dude, you need to learn to fucking knock!”

 

Derek sighed and reached down to pull up his briefs and dress slacks, sitting up and tucking himself in, getting dressed. “Don’t yell at him.”

 

“Shut up, Derek.”

 

“Oh. My apologies. I wasn’t expecting to see…this,” Peter said, frowning deeply at Stiles. “Is this…normal for you? To beat my nephew?”

 

“Fuck,” Stiles muttered, staring at him and then at Derek.

  
“Uncle Peter, what do you want?”

 

Stiles didn’t know what to do with his hands, a part of his brain still doped up from adrenaline and embarrassment and post-sex haze. The best thing to do was not be in the same room with either of the Hales. He hurried to the door on the other side of the private library, opening it quickly for his escape.

 

“Are you all right, Derek?” Peter said, softly. “Would you like to hold Agatha? Shall I call for Laura?”

 

Stiles turned and glared at them, furious that Peter thought _Derek_ was the fucking victim in this scenario. Derek stared at Stiles, an inscrutable expression on his face. He slammed the door behind him, not bothering to stay to hear Derek’s response.

 

***

 

Stiles stood in the shower, letting the hot water wash over him. He closed his eyes and breathed through his mouth, one hand pressed against the tiled wall to anchor him.

 

What the fuck was he doing?

 

_What the fuck was he doing?_

 

It’s not like he _wanted_ to have sex with Derek. Stiles wasn’t even sure that he wanted _sex_. But it was like his libido was suddenly switched on and he didn’t know how to turn it off. He could admit that he got off on it and Stiles was good at keeping his emotions in perspective. He knew he couldn’t live the rest of his life angry and hating Derek but he wasn’t ready to forgive or forget either; maybe this was just one way that he was starting to deal. He wasn’t ever going to fall in love with Derek, he wasn’t ever going to have a normal relationship with his husband/mate, and he wasn’t ever going to escape what his life had become – so what else was Stiles to do but deal, in whatever sick and dysfunctional way that he could?

 

He rinsed off and turned off the water taps and just stood in the glass shower stall for a long moment, trying to catch his breath.

 

There was nothing to think about. He probably knew that he needed some kind of counseling for everything and Stiles knew he was in denial, but he wasn’t ready to think any deeper about anything that had to do with him or Derek.

 

He really needed to talk to his dad.

 

Stiles got out of the shower and grabbed a clean towel, drying off. He walked into his room and into his large closet, pulling on clean briefs, jeans, and a _Game of Thrones_ tee-shirt. He didn’t want to put on any socks so he slipped his feet into his battered Chucks and wandered back out into his living room.

 

He sniffed and grinned; Scott had been in his chambers. Stiles found his iPad and a bottle of water on the coffee table. Stiles smiled as he sat down, opening the iPad portfolio and picked up the bottle to take a long, long drink, as his tablet booted up. He checked his schedule for tomorrow and the rest of the week – four public appearances, training schedule with Erica and Kali blocked out, fifteen new pieces of legislature for his review and approval, three meetings with Derek and the Ministers, and two informal receptions for VIP guests in the main hall. He shut down the iPad and tossed it on the cushion beside him as he sank back on the couch, rubbing his hand down his face.

 

His stomach grumbled; he checked the time and found that it was nearly 8 o’clock and he hadn’t had dinner yet, having spent four hours going over werewolf legislature in the private library when Derek walked in and… _that_ happened. Letting out a deep sigh, he stood up and walked to the house phone, picking up the handset and pressing 3 for the palace kitchens.

 

“How may I be of service, Your Highness?”

 

“Hey, could you bring up dinner and meet me in my father’s chambers?”

 

“Of course; shall I have the chef make your favorite?”

 

Stiles grinned, his mouth watering at the idea of having a thick T-bone steak with all the trimmings. “Yeah, thank you, that would be great.”

 

“We’ll bring up a service in half an hour, Your Highness.”

 

“Cool. Thanks, man.”

Stiles left his chambers and made the long walk through the halls to his father’s wing. The two Royal Guards stood straight as he made his way to them, one of them knocking politely on the door and waiting for his dad’s response. The guard opened the door for Stiles and both of them bowed their heads politely as he walked into his dad’s rooms.

“Hey, dad, you got a sec?”

 

“Son,” his dad said, standing up from behind his desk and smiling as he walked towards him. “I’m glad to see you.”

 

“Yeah, sorry, I should’ve come by a lot sooner,” he said, closing his eyes as his dad wrapped him up in a tight hug.

 

“No doubt that Scott has been keeping you busy with your royal duties,” John said, wrapping his arm around Stiles’s shoulder and leading him to the living room area.

 

“Did you eat?”

 

“Yes, earlier.”

 

“I had the kitchen send up dinner for me here, if you don’t mind.”

 

“Of course, son,” John said, looking at him. “How are you holding up?”

 

Stiles laughed, shaking his head. “Well, the kingdom hasn’t fallen apart so I guess I’m doing okay.”

 

“The kingdom is safe in your hands, Stiles. I know it’s not been easy, but you were born to lead them.”

 

“I’m open to any advice you can give me,” he said, looking at his father. “Anything that you can tell me about the Ministers and how to deal with the Royal Court.”

 

 _How to deal with Derek,_ he thought.

 

John leaned back on the couch and grinned, blue eyes twinkling with amusement. “I take it that Derek still hasn’t figured out whom to trust yet.”

 

“Dude, _I_ haven’t figured out who I can trust yet, let alone worry about what Derek’s thinking. Honestly, he probably doesn’t trust anyone anyway,” he said, taking a deep breath. “I never knew what a bunch of ass kissers they all are.”

 

John laughed heartily and patted Stiles on the shoulder. “Your burden to bear now, I’m actually enjoying my forced retirement. I’m thinking about traveling the world; seeing the sights without having to worry about royal duties and obligations. You and Derek are welcome to the kingdom, kiddo.”

 

“Funny,” Stiles said, grinning slightly. “About that, are they treating you all right? I mean, can you move around the palace and go into town?”

 

“The Alpha King has restored my freedoms, though I know he has one of his betas keep an eye on me to make sure I don’t turn traitor.”

 

Stiles regarded his father for a long moment. “You’re not thinking about turning traitor, are you?”

 

John smiled and folded his hands on his stomach, looking at Stiles with a calm expression. “I have too much respect for the royal institution to turn traitor. And I still have you on the throne, I know you’ll do the right thing for all the packs, make right the things that I couldn’t.”

 

“I’m going to try,” he said, kindly. He took a deep breath and fell back against the cushions. “I shouldn’t have judged you so harshly for what happened in the past. I mean, I wasn’t there, and things were different when grand dad was Alpha King.”

 

“I _should be_ judged for my actions…and my lack of action,” John said, solemnly. “I expect that there will come a time when Derek will make me stand trial for what happened to his family and pack.”

 

Stiles narrowed his eyes. “I won’t let that happen, dad.”

 

“Son, you don’t have to protect me – in fact, don’t protect me if it jeopardizes your authority on the throne. The packs will turn a blind eye to all manner of nepotism, but they won’t stand idly by if they think that justice is being tainted by the throne.”

 

“They did, though, all of them – with the exception of the Amazonians – when they stood by and let the Hale pack be nearly destroyed. So don’t expect me to excuse their inaction or collusion if you’re going to be dragged in front of Derek for any kind of trial.”

 

Stiles watched as his father took that in, a grim look on his face. He gave a brief nod in understanding.

 

“I’m here for you, whatever you need,” John said, looking at him.

 

“Okay, then, how about a former Alpha King’s perspective on the Ministers? I’ve been reading through all the ministerial legislation on term limits and how Ministers are selected to the Alpha King’s Parliament. It’s confusing because one text will say one thing, but then another text will supersede the other text.”

 

“Well, your grand dad had a very small inner circle of Ministers – maybe no more than ten in total, but under my rule, I asked each pack to send a representative to the palace to stand as a Minister in my Parliament. But there’s nothing definitive in werewolf legislation that states that each pack has this allowance. It allows each King to make that decision. I felt that it was fair to have a Ministerial representative from each of the fifty packs, but with so many cooks in the kitchen, there are a number of challenges and obstacles to making things happen.”

 

“So it’s not necessary to have all fifty Ministers here.”

 

“No, son, it’s not necessary; and if you and Derek plan to streamline the number of Ministers with those that you trust, you’ll find that pack leadership may go a little more smoothly.”

 

“But then it turns into cronyism and some Ministers may feel like they can abuse their position and power,” Stiles said, making a face. “And the packs without Ministerial representation may feel left out of the loop or like they’re being punished or ignored. Some of them may try to revolt.”

 

John nodded, solemnly. “You may want to keep the Ministers that you can trust; and ask each of the pack Alphas to submit a new representative to replace the ones that you send back to their packs. I can give you a list of the Ministers that I trust with the kingdom’s progress.”

 

“Yeah, that’s a good place to start, thanks, dad.”

 

“Are you and Derek working together on these issues?”

 

Stiles nodded and scratched his chin. “We’re…coming to terms with our roles and duties.”

 

“And what is Derek’s position on this issue?”

 

“Honestly, I’m not sure. He mostly just stares at me when I bring up the issue about Parliament and the Royal Court. It’s like…he’s not all there. What the hell kind of king is he going to be if he can’t even make a decision – even a _bad_ decision?”

 

“You might want to cut him a break; being an Alpha King can be overwhelming,” he said, sighing deeply. “I was really lucky; I had your mother to lean on, to watch my back, to advise me and to help me make decisions. Derek doesn’t have that, does he?”

 

 _And whose fucking fault was that,_ Stiles wanted to say.

 

John raised his eyebrows. “Talk to him, Stiles. He wasn’t raised in Court life like you were. He’s going to make so many mistakes, even if he has good instincts or good intentions, and it could set back all the work that the packs have done up to now and we – you – can’t afford to fight battles on multiple fronts.”

 

“Yeah, I know, I know. It’s just that…”

 

 _It’s easier to fuck Derek than talk to him._ Not like he could actually say that to his father.

 

“I’ll work on it.”

 

“Good. I trust you, kiddo.”

 

There was a polite knock on the door and John called out to enter. Two members of the kitchen staff wheeled in a service cart and Stiles inhaled the delicious aroma of the food, rubbing his stomach in pleasure. They set up everything in the dining room and Stiles poured his dad a glass of red wine.

 

“I can’t possibly eat all of this, want to share?”

 

John laughed. “Sure, I never turn down food.”

 

***

 

A few days later, Stiles was back in the private library, reading through every piece of werewolf legislation that he could find printed in books, tucked away in the archives, scanned onto microfilm, and even online. He pressed the balls of his hands against his eyes and leaned back in the chair, taking a break.

 

The door opened from the main hall and Stiles pulled his hands down to see Derek step inside. The Alpha King paused when he saw Stiles sitting at the long table and then walked into the room.

 

“Good afternoon,” Derek murmured, walking across the room to his desk. He set down the stack of folders in his hands in front of him and took a seat.

 

Stiles was prepared to ignore him; he had a lot of reading to get through and he wasn’t interested in having sex for once. He held the thick book in his hand, propping his head up with his hand and turning a little bit so that Derek wasn’t in his peripheral vision. He could feel Derek’s stare and Stiles shifted in the chair, uncomfortable being alone with him.

 

He heard Derek’s chair skid against the hardwood floor and Stiles glanced up to see Derek head for the small bar tucked between two large bookcases. He heard Derek pick up a glass and the crystal decanter, the warm scent of wolfsbane-infused bourbon filling the room.

 

Stiles wasn’t expecting for Derek to set a glass down for him. He flicked his eyes up and cleared his throat. “Thanks, but it’s kind of early for bourbon.”

 

“It’s nearly four in the afternoon.” Derek said, taking a sip of his drink. “Which of the Ministers do you trust?”

 

Stiles closed the book and stared up at him. “How would I know?”

 

“I know you meet with your father. I’m sure he’s giving you advice about it.”

 

“And what if he is?”

“Look, I want to try, but I need your help,” Derek gritted out, softly.

 

Stiles wondered how much that cost him to admit that. He stared at the amber liquid in the glass in front of him, contemplating taking a sip but decided that it was better to stay sober and level-headed. So he completely missed that Derek had taken his silence as rejection and he had walked across the room to the door.

 

Derek paused, his hand on the doorknob, and turned to look at him. “You promised me one favor.”

 

He snorted, rolling his eyes. “Heh. Right. Why don’t you save that favor for when you really need me to save your head from being chopped off by the Royal Court when they decide to overthrow you?”

 

Derek stared at him for a long moment, his lips curled into a frown. He gave Stiles a quick nod before turning to leave.

 

 _“Fuck,”_ Stiles muttered, his hands clenched into fists on top of the table.

 

***

 

He knocked on Scott’s chamber door and was surprised to see Allison open it. “Hey, you wanted to see me?”

 

“I thought we could have some tea and talk,” she said, waving him inside.

 

“Uh, sure,” Stiles said, looking around the room. “Just us? Where’s Scott?”

 

“He’s in a meeting with the Alpha King’s Emissary, Jennifer Blake.”

 

Stiles sat down on the couch as Allison poured him a cup of tea. “Thanks. So, what’s up?”

 

“I need your help petitioning the Alpha King to allow me to visit my family.”

 

He took a sip of tea and sighed deeply. “Allison, I’ve asked him and he won’t budge on the matter. He won’t listen to me.”

 

“There’s no one else that Derek will listen to but you,” she said, earnestly. “Please, Stiles, I need to know that my family is still alive.”

 

“They are, I swear that they are, Allison. I won’t let Derek execute them.”

 

He watched as Allison stared into the tea cup in her hands. She smiled and then nodded.

 

“Then can you visit the dungeons and look for yourself? I trust you, Stiles; you and Scott are the only people in this kingdom that I can trust. I just need to know that they’re alive and that they’re being treated fairly. I’m not asking for anything else.”

 

He bit his lip and nodded. “Okay, Allison, I’ll go see them.” He looked up at her. “Is there a message that you want me to give them?”

 

Allison met his eyes. “Would you trust me to not give them a coded message?” He didn’t know what to say to that. “Your Highness, I’m not a traitor to the throne or the kingdom. My family may have acted dishonorably, but I still follow the Argent Code.”

 

And that was why Stiles was in the elevator, making his way down to the sub-levels of the palace, to the dungeons, to check on the Argents to reassure Allison that her family was still alive.

 

The woman’s laugh was throaty and full of promise. Stiles stopped at the wall and peered around the corner to see Derek standing outside of the jail cell, arms crossed, back straight. He quieted himself and kept to the shadows, his natural curiosity and nosiness keeping him still. This was something that Stiles wanted to see; why was Derek in the dungeons?

 

“… _hmmm-mmm_ …back for more,” she said, leaning against the bars, her arms dangling through the rails as she smiled up at him. “Did you miss me, gorgeous?”

 

Lady Katherine Argent looked worse for wear, but she was still a beautiful woman. Her light brown hair looked unwashed for days and she wore the plain blue shirt and blue pants of the dungeons. But despite the fact that she was in jail, Kate Argent acted like it was Derek who was the prisoner. _Her_ prisoner.

 

Stiles frowned as she reached out to run her fingers along Derek’s arm. No one touched an Alpha King casually and that looked too familiar, too knowing. He didn’t know how he felt about that. He and Derek weren’t romantically mated, but because of the bond, he could feel his wolf jealous and possessive inside, seething and growling, his instincts telling him to tear off her hand for daring to touch what belonged to him.

 

“You know, I don’t think I ever told you, but I’m glad _you_ survived,” Kate murmured, cocking her head and grinning. “And look how you turned out. All grown up, a man now, an Alpha King. You were such a cute little pup when we first met; how you tagged along at my heels, wanting to be more important than you were. All it took was one little kiss and you were mine, weren’t you, Derek?” She leaned against the bars and looked up at him, coy and cruel. “Don’t you want to be mine again? Imagine all the things we could do now, hmm?”

 

“I’m imagining your head stuck on a pike outside the palace walls,” Derek said, glaring at her.

 

Kate laughed, unafraid. “Don’t tease me, Derek. You’re the one who comes to visit me almost every day since you dragged me and my family back to Beacon Hills. What’s a girl to think?”

 

Stiles frowned, holding back his growl. _What the fuck was Derek doing visiting her? And every day? What the fuck was that about?_

 

“If you wanted me dead, you would’ve had me executed months ago.”

 

“You’re going to pay for what you did to me and mine.”

 

“And what did I do but to pay a little attention to a shy little boy? You’re the one who gave up all the secrets of the Hale pack. You’re the one who led me to your family home. You’re the one who let your pack be destroyed,” she said, her voice low and serious. “A shy little boy who felt left out, an afterthought in his darling mother’s mind. You were born an Alpha, but you were never meant to lead your pack; a lowly fourth child – even your younger sisters were stronger than you. Who is to say that you weren’t the one who planned all this? Just so you could have the Alpha King’s throne to yourself.”

 

“Shut up,” he hissed, grabbing her wrist and pushing her hand off of him. “I was stupid to trust you, but you’re the one who burned down my house and killed my family.”

 

“Oh, sweetie, I was only following orders,” Kate said, her lips pulling into a pout.

 

Stiles watched as Derek stepped closer. “You planned everything. Your father and Stilinski never would’ve had the opening that they did without you.”

 

“Without _you_ ,” she countered, smiling. Kate took a deep breath, a pleased look on her face. “Ohhh, Derek, look at you. The Alpha King of the fifty packs and you’re still that same insecure little boy, aren’t you?” She stepped closer to the bars and met Derek’s eyes. “Let me out of here, let me stand by your side. I can help you rule the kingdom better than anyone else in the world. You’re right, I might have been the one to light the fire, but everyone else stood by on the sidelines and watched your family burn. You need me; let me fuel your revenge against the packs. I’ll help you clean the slate and we can create a world just for us; just like we used to dream.”

 

Stiles was sick; he held his hand over his mouth, trying to keep quiet.

 

“Do you still dream about me?”

 

“For my entire life, I’ve done nothing but dream about killing you with my bare hands,” Derek said to her.

 

Kate laughed. “Such a charmer.” She ran her hands over Derek’s arms, up to his shoulders, and down his chest. “I can tell that your little Omega mate hasn’t been taking care of you. You stink of sex, but there’s never any real pleasure in it. What a sad sacrifice it must be for you to fuck that pathetic Omega when you should be with your equal.”

 

Stiles growled lowly; Derek’s head snapped to the side to see him.

 

_Oh, fuck._

 

He turned and ran back down the hallway to the elevators. As the doors closed, he saw Derek running towards him.

 

“Stiles! Stiles wait!”

 

He ran to his chambers and slammed the door closed behind him, trying to catch his breath. He turned to see Derek standing in the living room, his hands by his side.

 

“Stiles, I don’t know how much you heard but let me explain.”

 

“I don’t care,” he said, glaring at Derek. “I know what I heard – plotting with your girlfriend to take my throne—“

 

“No, I would never—“

 

“Save it for when I call your ass before the Royal Court!” Stiles shouted at him. “Get the fuck out of here, you fucking traitor!”

 

“She killed my family,” Derek said, softly. “She befriended me, made me trust her, and she destroyed everyone I loved.”

 

Stiles pressed his hand against his mouth and stared at Derek.

 

“I don’t want her. I’ve never hated anyone as much as I hate her,” he said, looking away. “I’m sure you understand what that feels like.”

 

“What are you planning to do with the Argents?”

 

“They need to pay for what they did.”

 

“Uh, okay, I get that, but what does that mean?”

 

Derek looked at him. “It means that I’m going to order their execution.”

 

Stiles shook his head. “Without a public trial? No, no way, Derek, you can’t do that. We’re not going to devolve to the old ways.”

 

“My pack – my _family_ needs justice!”

 

“That’s not justice, Derek,” he said, urgently. “That’s vengeance. That’s taking the law into your own hands.”

 

Derek sneered. “I’m the Alpha King now. Who’s going to stand in my way?” He looked at Stiles, his eyes moving up and down. “You?” He smirked. “My little Omega?”

 

“Don’t call me that,” Stiles said, growling lowly. “And yeah, I can and will stand in your way.”

 

Derek stalked closer to him, eyes glowing red. “Don’t stand in my way on this, Stiles.”

 

“The Royal Court won’t let you do this.”

 

“There are plenty of traditional packs who wouldn’t mind a return to the old ways.”

 

“That’s taking the packs a hundred years backwards, Derek,” Stiles insisted, shaking his head. “Don’t take us there, man.”

 

“They need to die for what they did.”

 

Stiles raised his hands. “Okay, you know, maybe they do. Maybe everyone needs to be punished for what they did to your family but this isn’t the way to do it. You can’t make that kind of unilateral decision, even if you are the Alpha King. It doesn’t work like that.”

 

“It works the way that I want it to.”

 

“So you’re no better than my grand dad or Gerard Argent then,” he said, meeting Derek’s eyes. “You decide their fate without regard to anything but your own greed.”

 

Derek laughed, harsh and bitter. “Don’t lecture me about the past.”

 

“Someone has to! Someone needs to remind you that you’re not above the law.”

 

“I’ve already made up my mind,” he said, moving past Stiles and walking to the door.

 

“Derek!” Stiles called, biting his lip. “Please don’t do this.”

 

He watched as Derek stopped, his head held high, shoulders tense.

 

“Please, Derek.”

 

Derek looked at him. “Why would you beg for their lives? Who are they to you? Just because Scott is in love with Allison? Don’t worry, I’ll spare her life.”

 

Stiles swallowed. “I’ll beg for anyone’s life; they’re our pack, Derek, all of them. If we go against each other, we’re no better than animals.”

 

Derek didn’t say anything; he opened the door and slammed it closed as he left.

 

“Oh fuck, fuck, oh fuck,” he muttered, running his hands through his hair and pacing around his living room.

 

_How the fuck was he going to stop Derek?_


	14. TIME STAMP 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a "The Royal Omega" time stamp. A Peter POV.
> 
> (Set up for a Peter/Chris pairing in later chapters).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I posted the time stamps, stories that are told from another character's perspective, on my Tumblr and not directly here with this fic since this story is told strictly from Stiles's POV and I wanted to keep things linear here. Thanks!

[Follow this Link to Read the Time Stamp](http://theserpentgirl.tumblr.com/post/107165264585/time-stamp-the-royal-omega)


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: Major Trigger Warning for dub-con/non-con sex with knotting and verbal threat of abortion. I’ll note where the scene begins so if it triggers you, you can skip it.
> 
> Author's Note 2: I know it was a very long wait, but this chapter was nearly finished so I edited it. However, it will probably be another really long wait for a new chapter. Thank you all for following this story; I promise I won't let it go on permanent hiatus or abandoned. Thanks so much!

 

**Palace Gardens**

 

When Stiles was a boy, he and his father would run through the garden maze, playing a energetic game of tag; as he got older, as Stiles had to learn the royal duties and responsibilities of Court life, there was less laughter and more listening as John offered him advice about the Royal Court, about being the Royal Omega.

His interests were always at extremes, and varied, his attention span going from one thing to the next, and John was immeasurably patient. Stiles loved spending time with his dad, just the two of them, away from the watchful eyes of the Palace denizens. It was the only time that Stiles and John could have privacy, some father-son bonding time away from the curiosity-seekers. John taught him how to keep peace, how to know when to go to war, and how to end a war. He taught Stiles about helping the packs; encouraged him to make friends, not just allies. He taught Stiles how to gain and maintain power. Even though Stiles was an Omega, his father taught Stiles how to hold the throne as a Stilinski.  The lessons John taught him weren’t always about politics and history. It was also about being a good man, what it meant to be a good mate. He told Stiles stories about his mother.

It wasn’t the same, walking the maze with his dad now. The illusion of freedom was carefully constructed, but they both knew that if John showed any signs of being a threat, he would be put down quickly. They were granted a small semblance of privacy, but Derek’s guards were a paranoid bunch; their obvious discomfort being in the Palace, and in the heart of the Royal Court, their distrust and wariness of the former Alpha King, were abundantly clear.

“I need to know if this is a battle that I need to fight,” Stiles said, keeping his voice low. “How hard do I fight Derek on this, dad?”

John nodded slowly, his face serious. “It doesn’t sound like Derek is going to back down.”

“I don’t know how to talk to him. I don’t want to talk to him.”

John sighed. “Then it’s going to be a hard fight. Not only is he an Alpha, but he is your King.”

Stiles made a face and breathed hard through his nose. “What Derek wants to do is wrong. It’s wrong to go against any pack unilaterally.”

John took a deep breath, but didn’t respond. Stiles knew that John’s decisions of the past were weighing on him; Stiles didn’t want to add to his father’s guilt, but he wasn’t going to kid glove the issue either. Neither of them could afford to forget what happened in the past; the sins of the father visited on the son, that kind of thing. Stiles was working on forgiving his dad, but he needed the former Alpha King’s advice now.   

“I just…dad, I need some kind of reassurance that in standing up for the Argent pack, I’m not cutting off my nose to spite my face, you know? Is the Royal Court going to support me because it’s the right thing to do; or are they going to fall in line with Derek because they’re scared shitless of him?”

John wrapped his arm behind Stiles’s shoulder, squeezing him gently. “Court politics is never that clear cut; you’ll have to win them over, one by one. And to be honest, it’s not going to be about justice or fairness; it’s going to be about what will benefit that other pack to side with you or with Derek.”

Stiles groaned, palming his face with both of his hands. “I hate pack politics.”

“Remember, son, they’re all watching you. They’re watching Derek, too. The first sign of weakness or doubt from Derek and they’ll skin him alive.” John looked at Stiles. “And maybe you, too.”

“I’m not afraid of the packs,” he said, firmly. “I’m not afraid of losing my position in Court. I just want to…I **need** to do the right thing. Even if it’s the last thing I do, you know?”

“Even if the Argents had a hand in destroying the Hale family? You’d lay down your life for their pack?”

“We’re getting a free pass.”

John squeezed Stiles’s shoulder. That was all that they could say.

“Forcing you to…mate with him is not a free pass…I’d rather he skinned my fur and…” John said, his voice rough and low. “Stiles—“

“Tell me about them. The Argents.” He said, sharply, not able to listen to whatever it was that his dad was planning to say. Didn’t they all have regrets? And worse than that, there was nothing that could be done to change what happened.

“The Argents have always been a Matriarchal line. They’ve always claimed a Matriarchal Alpha because they could trace their lineage to the Amazons.”

Stiles bit his lip, forcing himself silent so he wouldn’t give away the truth of the original three bloodline packs. He wasn’t able to wrap his head around it yet; let alone try to explain to his dad what the Amazonians revealed to him.

“Some say that the Amazonians birthed the First Lycaon bloodline.”

He watched John for his reaction. John merely nodded, a wry grin on his face.

“More myth or legend than fact, from what I was taught,” John told him. “I’ve heard from some philosophers that there was more than one bloodline.” He squinted, thoughtfully. “Deaton once told me a story that there were three bloodlines – of course it’s completely preposterous; fanciful thinking by other pack bloodlines wishing to claim the royal bloodline for themselves perhaps.”

This wasn’t the time for a bloodline history lesson and Stiles wasn’t even sure if his dad, or anyone else for that matter, was ready to hear the truth of the First Lycaon anyway.

“Do you trust the Argents?”

“Victoria and I didn’t always see eye-to-eye, but Chris was a seasoned diplomat and served their pack well. Even during their exile from the Royal Court, Chris Argent was known for his bravery and his honor. Court gossip claims that Chris is innocent, that he didn’t know of his family’s true dealings.”

Stiles took a deep breath, a small bud of hope forming in the back of his mind. “Do you believe that?”

John stopped walking and turned, putting his hands on Stiles’s shoulders. He gazed up at his father, hoping for truth and knowledge, hoping for an answer.

“Do I believe that the Argent pack is guiltless? No. Do I believe that Chris Argent may be an ally for you?” John took a deep breath. “Yes.”

Stiles nodded, meeting his dad’s eyes. “I need to talk to him.”

***

**The Dungeons**

 

He found Chris Argent sitting on the low bunk, his eyes closed and his head leaning against the stone wall. He held a small, hard-bound book in his hand, his index finger marking the page, the book held loosely. Stiles wondered who had come down to give him such a token. Prisoners in the dungeons were not allowed any personal things. For just a moment, Stiles narrowed his eyes, wondering which guard had risked giving Chris Argent the gift.

“What’re you reading?”

Chris opened his eyes and got to his feet, staring at Stiles. “Your Highness…I…” He took a deep breath and gave a self-deprecating smile. “It’s ‘ _The Collected Poems of Edgar Allan Poe_.’”

“Darkly romantic sentiment, though I guess it’s kind of fitting for where you are. Who gave you the book?”

He wondered if Chris would give up the name of his accomplice and Stiles cocked his head, thinking that this was a test of Chris Argent’s character. If he told Stiles the name of the person who gave him the book, then he would betray someone who was probably acting in kindness and compassion, giving them up for punishment. If he kept his silence, then he would show a secretive nature; someone who knowingly broke the rules for his own selfish gain.

Chris walked towards the bars of his prison and placed the book in the narrow space where the food tray was pushed through. “Take the book; I’m sure it was a mistake to let me have it.”

Stiles stared at him for a long moment, watching as Chris stepped back to the middle of his cell, blue eyes watchful and patient. Stiles picked up the book and flipped through it, the smell of the aged and musty pages wafting up to his nose. He opened the back cover to see the familiar Stilinski crest embossed into the hard cover. He frowned, tracing his fingers over the crest; not many people had access to the family’s libraries.

Was it Allison? Had she sent the book to her father as a means of communication? With Scott escorting her, she had access to many of the rooms in the Palace, including the family library. A simple book wouldn’t garner a lot of attention, wouldn’t cause a fuss. He flipped through the pages slowly, trying to determine if there was a coded message – he found nothing.

With a heavy sigh, he closed the book. “Did you get it from Allison?”

He watched as that got a reaction out of Chris. “Is my daughter okay?”

“Derek’s put her on house arrest and he’s told me that he won’t execute her.”

Chris clenched his hands and took a deep breath, his eyes closing in relief.

“Are you asking because you’re her father or because Allison’s the next Matriarch of the Argent pack?”

Chris’s eyes flashed brilliant Beta blue eyes at Stiles. “It’s because she’s my only child!”

“I want to believe you,” Stiles said, calmly. “I want to believe that you’re a man I can trust.”

He walked closer to the bars, eyes steady on Stiles. “What do you need me to do, Your Highness?”

“My dad says that you’re the only one who follows a code of honor.” Stiles stared at him. “I’m taking a risk talking to you, Lord Argent, but Derek plans to execute all of you. I’ll do whatever I can to help Allison, but I don’t know if I can stop him from killing the rest of you.”

Chris took a deep breath and gave a firm nod. He dropped down to one knee, placing his hands over his knee. “I, Christopher Argent, swear a blood fealty to you, Prince Consort Genim Stilinski, that to my death I will be your humble servant, loyal and steadfast and true.”

Stiles swallowed, frowning deeply. “To break a fealty vow is instant death.”

“I know. I make it freely. I’ll make sure that Allison gives you a blood oath as well. The Argent pack belongs to you now, Your Highness.”

“Then I accept. Please get up, Argent.”

He watched as Chris got to his feet; still a noble man in his prisoner clothes. Stiles turned to look at the dungeon guards. “Take Argent to the guest quarters near my wing.”

“Your Highness…” the guard said, tentatively. “King Derek is the only one who can—“

“Am I not your Prince and Royal Omega of the Stilinski pack?”

“Yes, Your Highness,” the guard said, quickly, bowing his head. “But, sir…”

“I promise you that King Derek will not blame you if you were only following my orders,” he said, putting every ounce of authority into his voice. “Let him out and put him in my guest quarters.”

“Yes, Your Highness,” the guard said, motioning to his partner and getting the keys to unlock the prison doors.

“Thank you,” Chris said, stepping out of the cell and looking at Stiles.

“Don’t make me regret this.”

Chris nodded and followed the guards down the hallway. Stiles watched them go and he leaned against the bars, looking at the book in his hand.

“ _Ohhhh_ merciful sweet Prince,” a woman’s voice cajoled from a few cells away.

Stiles looked up, hearing Kate Argent’s taunting laughter. He pushed off the bars and walked carefully towards her cell.

“My brother was always so weak; a sympathizer of the Stilinski throne,” she said, sneering at him. “Don’t you find it funny that he didn’t ask for mercy for the rest of his family? How quick was he to save himself and his precious Allison.”

He crossed his arms and looked at her. “Maybe he didn’t feel the rest of his family was worth saving.”

“Little Omega, you certainly are a pretty Omega, you have so much to learn about pack politics. Don’t you think that we’ve planned for this little inevitability? That Allison was trained by the best of us to step into her new role. And now, with daddy out of the dungeons, it’s only a matter of time before you and, my darling Derek, are all dead and burned to ash.”

Stiles felt chills run up and down his spine. He glared at her as she laughed at him, throaty and melodious, and he turned, hurrying down the dungeons to the guard room.

“Strengthen your numbers around the Argents. No one is allowed to meet them or communicate with them,” he said, sternly. “If any of the Argents escape or flee, it’ll be on your heads.”

He made his way to the main floors of the palace, hands shoved into his pockets, completely disturbed by Kate’s words. If she wanted to plant a seed of doubt in his mind, then she had certainly succeeded. But Stiles also had Argent’s sworn fealty. He had to believe that that meant something more.

Rounding the corner, he bumped into a woman and pinwheeled his arms to catch his balance and laughed when strong hands clutched his shoulders, keeping him on his feet.

“Whoa! Hah! You caught me—oh! Lady Laura, sorry for bumping into you. I was, you know,” he said, waving his hand around his head. “Thinking about something.”

Laura grinned, her dark eyes crinkling at the edges. “It’s quite all right, Stiles.”

“Well, uh, don’t let me keep you—“

“Actually…” she paused, wincing slightly. “Stiles, I saw Chris Argent in the hallway. Did my brother…”

“No, no, that was me. I went to talk to Argent and had the guards release him from the dungeons and put into the guest suite near me,” he said, quietly.

“And I take it that Derek doesn’t know?”

Stiles shook his head.

“Why did you free Chris? What about the others?”

“Argent swore fealty to me,” he said, meeting her eyes. “I believe that he’s an ally and not an enemy.”

Laura took a deep, bracing breath and nodded. “Derek will find out soon enough, but it won’t be from me.”

“Thank you,” he said, smiling.

“My Uncle and I don’t want to see the Argents executed. We want them to face trial for their crimes, but Derek won’t listen to us,” Laura said, staring at Stiles. “Maybe he’ll listen to you.”

“How is Peter? Is he up for a visitor?”

“He’s in good spirits today. You can find him on the north balcony.”

“Thanks, Laura.”

***

**North Balcony**

 

When Stiles made his way to the North Balcony, off the hallway from the Hale suite of rooms, he saw Peter sitting with an attractive woman with long dark hair. There was something about her eyes and a sharpness in her smile, like she was covering a mouthful of fangs behind her lips. She flicked up her eyes when she sensed Stiles’s presence.

“Hey, I didn’t mean to intrude,” Stiles said, stepping towards the table set up for refreshments.

The woman stood; she was dressed casually in tight jeans and a dark purple shirt that was a pleasing color on her. She gave a slight nod, acknowledging his status, but he could tell that it was more out of polite duty than respect to his position.

“Ahh, Stiles, come and meet Miss Blake,” Peter called, smiling at him.

"Your Highness,” she murmured, the corner of her lip tilting up with a smirk. “I’m Jennifer Blake, the Hale Emissary.”

“Welcome to Beacon Hills, Miss Blake,” he said, meeting her eyes. “If it’s business, I can always come back.”

“I’m actually finished,” she said, sliding her eyes to Peter in a confidential manner. “I’ve just been filling Peter in on the work that I’ve been doing on behalf of Derek.”

Stiles frowned at the way she said the Alpha’s name; too familiar and possessive.

Jennifer turned to look at Stiles, cocking her head slightly. “Setting up a public execution is quite time-consuming.” She flashed a malicious smile at Stiles. “Just getting the clean-up crew scheduled is taking a lot more time than expected, so I best be off.”

“Do you believe that the Argents should be executed without trial?” Stiles said, frowning slightly.

She smiled. “They deserve to be punished for what they did to Hale pack.”

“And what about my pack?”

“Your pack belongs to Derek,” she said, coolly.

Stiles opened his mouth to correct her, that he meant the Stilinski family, but she raised her eyebrow and quirked the corner of her mouth into a knowing smirk.

“Of course we’d never go against the Consort Prince and his immediate family,” she proclaimed, chin raised slightly as she narrowed her eyes. “But Derek has the throne now and the decision is up to him.”

“I would not like to see the stones in the courtyard covered in blood,” Peter said, giving Jennifer a steady look. “It doesn’t bode well to my mental well-being.”

She chuckled and ran an affectionate hand over Peter’s hair. “We don’t want that, now do we?” She bowed her head to Stiles again, her eyes never wavered. “Your Highness.”

“Miss Blake,” he said, meeting her gaze. He watched as she picked up a burgundy leather portfolio from the table, heading back into the palace.

“She is quite an Amazonian,” Peter mused, sighing happily. “She has been a wonder for our pack.”

Stiles made a little moue of displeasure and rolled his eyes. _Oh, there was no doubt just how much of a “wonder” the Emissary was for Derek._

“ _Ahhh_ …do I sense a bit of jealousy?”

“No. Her? No!” Stiles said, making a face. “Anyway, Lady Laura said that you were having a good day. May I join you?”  

He looked like he was having a lucid day. Agatha was leaning against the pitcher of water on the patio table and Peter was sitting back in his chair, easy and relaxed, sunglasses covering his eyes, a small smile on his lips. He turned to look at Stiles, his smile growing as he waved his hand to the chair across from him.

“Please join me, Your Highness.”

“Stiles,” he said, sitting down. “You can call me Stiles.”

Peter chuffed. “Such a terrible name for the Consort Prince, but I will abide by your wishes, Stiles.”

“Are you having a good day?”

“It’s as well as it can be expected,” he said, looking out at the woods behind the palace. “I used to play right over there, when I was younger. The woods behind the palace were always full of charm and adventure. I used to think that if I ran deep enough that I’d find fairies and elves.” Peter grinned, pulling down the bridge of his sunglasses with his index finger, looking at Stiles. “But you didn’t come out here to listen to me talk about the past. What is it that I can help you with?”

Stiles thought that he was perceptive; he wondered what Peter was like before the fire and the mass murder of his family.

“If—if it’s okay, can you tell me what you did…before?”

“Before the fire?” Peter said, sighing deeply. He raised his hands in front of him, turning them back and forth. “I used to be an artist, a sculptor. I met my wife, Caroline, at one of my art shows in New York.” Peter chuckled, clasping his hands on his chest. “She didn’t know a thing about art; and she’d only come to the show with her friends. But I knew she was going to be mine; that she was my mate. I burned my hands to blackened stumps trying to save them, all of them.”

“I’m sorry, Peter,” he said, quietly. He stared at Peter’s hands, curled loosely over his shirt. They didn’t carry the damage of the past, but they were still heavily scarred. “I can’t imagine what it must’ve been like for you and your family.”

“Well, if it’s any consolation, I don’t often have the lucidity to remember,” Peter said, darkly. “Though I do sometimes miss my art. Laura wants me to meet with doctors and go to therapy, perhaps work with clay, to build up the strength in my hands. But I feel that it would only…anger me…to bring me clarity to the memories of the past.”

Stiles didn’t really know what to say; so he did the only thing he could think to offer, staying with Peter as he enjoyed the sunlight.

From the corner of his eye, he could see Scott trying to catch his attention.

“Your Highness, apologies for interrupting,” Scott said as Stiles waved him towards them. He grinned at Peter. “Are you having a good afternoon, Lord Hale?”

“As well as one could expect,” Peter said, congenially.

Scott bowed his head politely to the older werewolf, and turned his gaze on Stiles. “I’ve been sent to find you; His Majesty would like to speak to you. He’s in the gym.”

“Well, if His Majesty beckons,” Stiles said, sarcastically.

He stood up slowly, pausing when Peter reached out to grab his wrist.

“Be careful of my nephew; if you push him too far, he will hurt you,” Peter said, softly.

“He’s already hurt me plenty,” he replied, patting Peter’s shoulder. “But thank you for your kindness.”

Peter released him with a soft sigh and Stiles followed Scott through the opened balcony doorway into the halls.

“What the hell does he want?” He said, frowning at Scott.

“Thank you for what you did for Allison’s father. She’d like to speak to you later, when you have some time, to thank you face-to-face,” Scott said, quietly.

Stiles tucked his hands into his pants. “I don’t need her thanks; what I need is reassurance that they’re not going to fucking stab me in the back later for doing this.”

“She would never—“

“She’s the Argent Matriarch and Derek is about to execute the rest of her family,” Stiles said, staring at Scott. “Would you do nothing if it were your family? Because I wouldn’t just let it happen. I’d make any deal, make any bribe, to make sure that my family survived.”

Scott reached out and squeezed Stiles’s shoulder. “Lord Argent has always followed the Argent Code – he might be the only one who has – and Allison might be their pack Matriarch, but she’s not a traitor to the throne; to **your** throne, Stiles.”

“My throne belongs to an Alpha King that’s wants to kill all of us,” he snapped back, shaking his head. “How do you expect me to do anything about that?”

“You’ll find a way,” Scott said, looking at him. “You always do.”

“Yeah, well, maybe this will be the first time that I can’t,” Stiles told him, staring ahead at the doors leading to the palace gym.

 

**Palace Gym**

**(Major trigger warnings: Threat of aborting while in the middle of knotting; Dubcon Stiles/Derek)**

 

Derek was working out like a madman when Stiles walked into the private gym. He wore loose black track pants, black tank top, his dark hair plastered on his forehead with sweat. Stiles closed the door behind him and walked to the side of the room, to a cushioned bench seat. The Alpha King was working through what looked like a couple hundred stomach crunches, dark blue eyes staring at Stiles.

“What the fuck were you thinking going behind my back like that?” Derek hissed out, glaring at him. He hadn’t paused in his exercise; he didn’t even sound all that out of breath. “Did you think I wouldn’t find out? How dare you go—“

“Because you’re wrong, Derek!” Stiles shouted at him, hands clutching the edge of the bench seat. “You don’t get to make decisions like that without me. I inherited the throne; the only reason why I can’t rule is because of a stupid, archaic law that says only Alphas get to rule the packs.”

Derek jumped to his feet and sneered at Stiles. “Does the little Omega want to be King?”

“Hey! This ‘little Omega’ would make a hell of a better king than you!”

Derek growled and grabbed him by the arms, slamming him into the wall. Stiles gritted his teeth and refused to submit, refused to turn his head and offer his neck. He stared Derek down, met his red-fire gaze, and challenged him.

“What’re you going to do, Derek? Hit me? Beat me into submission? Big bad Alpha getting his jollies off on hurting a lowly little Omega, that do it for you, _Der_?”

With a rough grunt, Derek let Stiles go, sneering in derision as he turned his back on Stiles.

“You fucker! Don’t turn away from me!” Stiles shouted, grabbing him by the arm and forcing Derek to look at him.

Derek smirk, licking his lips. “What’re you going to do, Stiles?”

Stiles wrestled Derek to the mats; well, wrestled wasn’t probably the best word for the way that Stiles threw his entire weight on Derek, forcing him to fall on his back to the mats under them. Stiles kissed Derek on the mouth, hard and fast, tongue slipping into his mouth with a low growl.

“You think if I’m just going to lie back and think of the kingdom,” Derek hissed, glaring at him, “then you have another think coming.”

“Shut up!”

Derek flipped Stiles onto his back, holding him down with the weight of his body. He kissed Stiles roughly, biting at his mouth, as clawed hands shredded both of their clothes in haste. Stiles groaned, grabbing at Derek’s hair, when he felt Derek’s cock breach his ass, pushing in with a long, slick stroke.

“Why do you keep coming to me for this?”

“Shut the fuck up! It’s just physical! I just want to get off and you’re the most convenient dick in the palace,” Stiles shouted, reaching between their bellies to wrap his hand around his cock, stroking himself quickly.

Derek fucked into him hard, hands gripping his pale thighs, leaving behind bruises. He braced his teeth against Stiles’s neck and groaned, shoving into Stiles with a series of hard, fast thrusts.

“Shit,” Derek whispered, pulling Stiles onto his cock with short, hard tugs, his strong hands gripping Stiles by his hips.

Stiles chased after his own pleasure, sucking in a deep breath as he came, his come squirting onto his stomach.

“Shit, shit!”

“What—“

Stiles tried to pull away when he felt the heat of Derek’s cock increase, the hard knot forming inside of him.

“Derek, don’t fucking do it!”

“It’s too late,” Derek said, grunting thickly as he shuddered against Stiles.

Derek gritted his teeth and inhaled sharply, eyes squeezed closed as his knot slotted into place, his whole body trembling as he started to come with long, thick bursts inside of Stiles.

“You asshole!”

Stiles bit back his groan, tossing his head back as the knot tugged on his insides, pushing against his sensitive flesh, pulsing deeply inside of him. Derek shifted his hips, pushing his knot in even deeper, pressing on Stiles’s prostate. Stiles let go of his cock and grabbed for Derek’s shoulders, thighs tightening against Derek’s hips and bucking up to ride the knot.

“Shit,” Derek whispered, burying his face against Stiles’s neck. “I’m sorry. I didn’t plan on--“

“Just shut up and get out of me if you’re done.”

“Just – it’ll go down, just stop moving!”

“Fucking get off, Derek!”

“Stop it.”

“I’m not even in heat, why are you knotting me? You can’t even control yourself, is that it?”

“Just stop it, Stiles.”

“I can’t believe this. Let me be clear, if you try to get me pregnant, I will fucking abort every single—“

“ **Shut up**! Don’t you dare – don’t you _fucking_ even talk about that. Whatever is between us, I know you hate my guts, but if you even think about aborting our children—“

“Don’t tell me what I can and can’t do with my own body,” Stiles snarled at him. “You didn’t give me a choice; I’m not going to give you one!”

“Hate me all you want, but don’t – just don’t – _please_.”

“Don’t talk to me,” he said, turning his head to stare at anything but Derek.

He felt utterly humiliated and used, splayed out under Derek, his legs bent and spread open, wetness slipping down the crack of his ass and pooling under his back. Derek was trying to keep his weight off of him, leaning heavily on his elbow, his other hand in a fist, pressed against the mats.

“If—if I could go back, to the past, about what I did—“

“I said don’t talk to me!”

“—I wouldn’t have done this. If I knew…if I had realized how much it would cost—“

“Just shut up, Derek.”

“—I wouldn’t have done this to you.”

“ _Awww_ feeling a bit of regret, are we? Don’t expect me to have any compassion for your rape guilt.”

Derek frowned, looking away. “I don’t ever expect you to forgive me—“

Stiles snorted. “It’s not like you even asked me for forgiveness, asshole.”

“Would it help?”

“Don’t hold your breath.”

***

Much later, after Derek pulled his cock from inside Stiles, and Stiles grabbed his torn pants off the floor to run to the gym showers, he blamed himself that this was likely to happen, all the times he challenged Derek, or fucked himself on Derek like a living dildo, it was just a matter of time he pushed Derek too far.

Stiles was mortified by the leaking trail of come down the back of his leg, and he spent a good forty minutes in the hot shower, trying to clean himself inside and out, fingers delicately probing his ass and using the shower head spray to try and wash out Derek’s come.

_"Be careful of my nephew; if you push him too far, he will hurt you.”_

Peter’s words rang in Stiles’s mind; he stayed under the shower until he felt like he had washed Derek off his skin. He wasn’t going to be seeking Derek out for sex anymore; it was too confusing, his emotions were a mixture of anger and resentment and hate and sickness.  

He was half afraid that Derek would follow him into the showers, but when he finished, he found that he was alone. He dried off and got dressed in clean gym clothes, shoving his torn shirt and pants into a gym bag.

Quietly, Stiles crept out of the shower area, holding his breath to see if Derek was still in the gym. Thankfully, Stiles was alone and Derek had gone. He raced through the gym and didn’t stop until he got back to the safety of his suite of rooms. He stood against the closed door, breathing heavily, and clothing the bag of clothes against his chest, ignoring the scent of Alpha and lust and dried come.


End file.
